


Sell Your Crown for a Drink of Whiskey

by HuggerMuggered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuggerMuggered/pseuds/HuggerMuggered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Haywood has been cast out of his own castle and put on the run following an attempted assassination. He takes shelter at the Ramsey Inn, under the guise of a common traveler-- and the Innkeeper's son takes an interest in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Draught for my Aching Side

Honestly he should have seen it coming- What with how his whole small council had been eyeing him lately. The King’s subjects were happy enough and loved him well but nothing was ever good enough for the nobility. They wanted everything; more taxes and more land-- They each had a look about them that the King had not been able to place until it was desperately too late.

They each looked like the hunting dogs when they’d gotten a taste of blood, rabid and unable to be controlled as they took down the fox and would not let their masters reign them in.

Now James Ryan Haywood desperately wished his family heraldry showed something other than the fox- sleek and orange next to a harsh iron gauntlet. Perhaps it would have been safer to be born a small Baron or a Lord with a flower for his heraldry- Rather than a Prince turned King. At the very least he would be safe and comfortable in his own home.

Instead, he was on the run for his life- disguised in the plainest clothes he owned and with nothing to show for his brief battle against attempted murder and treason than the wound on his right side. He could feel it pulling through the rough-spun black shirt and the bandages Kerry had hastily thrown onto him before pushing him onto a horse and sending him off, no guard and no sword.

That’s well enough- his dagger will do if anyone thinks robbing a plain man on a horse is worth their time, and swords draw questions; palace steel draws questions.

King Haywood can not afford questions.

Still, if he rides any farther as fast as he has been he will not survive the journey. [Especially because he has no idea where to go. Will his allies to the South save him? Bring him home with an army to overthrow the coup within his castle walls?] The wound in his side is definitely bleeding still, as there was no time for stitches. He could do with a rest.

But stopping on the road, out in the open? Even raised in a castle he knows the folly of the idea. He’d be dead by morning, even if the thieves only wanted his horse.

So the King reigns in his horse so that it trots rather than cantors, watching the road for any sign of a town or an inn. It has been far too much time since he was a young Prince with the ability to travel his lands. He barely remembers these southern hills with their winding and twisting dirt roads that lead up and out of the valley. He has been locked away in his castle far too long with pretentious Barons and their death-wishes. (Because he will have them taken care of, mark his words.)

He does vaguely remember the road coming up to his right- branching off to the beginning of the flat woodlands and then to the sea. There is a town at the edge of the wood which used to make a caravan to the port weekly-- If he can reach the port and pay passage on a ship, he knows King Burnie will be more than willing to help him. Their families have been allied for centuries.

So he turns his horse to the right, and travels on.

* * *

The Inn is crowded and loud- but it’s home.

Gavin has to hold back too much laughter as Michael thumps his hand down on the bar and sends Lindsay’s pewter mug spinning. It’s empty already, but she still knocks him upside the head for good measure. The warriors are his favorite customers, he cannot help but count them as friends.

Surely, anyone who visits his father’s Inn is a friend-- but these most of all.

“And another thing,” Michael says, tugging on the hood of bear’s fur that sits on his shoulders. “Those damned guards sealed off the pass! Can you believe that? It took us forever to get back here.”

“It did.” Lindsay agrees, rolling her eyes. Michael has been telling his story for fifteen minutes now.

“Would have been here three days sooner if we hadn’t been forced to take the long way around.” Michael continues.

“Yes, much sooner.” Lindsay says, grabbing her mug and handing it to Gavin so that he can refill it. “Wouldn’t have gotten that job to take out those wolves on the Eastern Pass, though.”

Michael pauses in his drunken rambling to hum appreciatively into his half-full mug; those wolves are paying for his drunken spree after all.

Gavin hands back Lindsay’s mug and moves out of the way so that Ray can get around the bar behind him. He’s got a heavy basket of empty mugs and bowls in his arms and he looks none-too-happy about it.

“Well I’m glad you’re back- especially because it looks like tonight Mogar is going to pay for my new pair of boots.” Geoff says from the other end of the bar. He’s busy setting a bowl of stew in front of the local blacksmith.

Jack's a good man; Gavin’s glad to see him out and about after that sickness passed through town two weeks ago. Hopefully he’ll be back to the forge tomorrow.

“I’d rather burn the place down.” Michael mutters into his mug- not yet drunk enough to allow for Geoff calling him ‘Mogar’. It was a phase he’s not proud of- it sometimes repeats itself when he’s plastered. He’d rather drink away the memory of being far too sure of his drunken self and falling off of a horse into a trencher screaming ‘Mogar the mighty’ than re-live it; even if it brought him to Lindsay.

Lindsay grins about the burn as Gavin fills mugs for Ray’s tray to take around to refill customer’s cups.

The Inn itself is well built and comfortable, the lower floor dedicated to tables and chairs and benches where the townsfolk gather for supper or a drink, and where travelers spend their evening before retiring to their rooms on the second and third floor. There’s plenty of travelers in tonight besides the warriors: a monk, a merchant, and a few lads from a ship waiting to escort something back to port with the Caravan that’s leaving in three days being the newest arrivals. The ships men are all missing (Probably searching the town for the brothel one block over) besides the one lad who’d shaken his head at the thought of heading out. He was in the corner now, playing a game of cards with some farmers who call out ‘Caleb why!?’ every so often. Lucky bastard must have been winning.

So, to reiterate- It wasn’t odd to see travelers coming in to his family’s Inn. Gavin had years of experiences with guards and merchants and rogues alike under Geoff and Griffon’s careful teaching--

But it was odd to see a man walk in with a hand carefully cradled to his side, looking pale. That never boded well, even if the traveler was as fair haired and blue eyed as this one was. Usually people were at least pink- not grey faced. Northmen were an odd lot; Gavin had always been told- but they tended not to show up places already injured.

“ ‘Lo, friend. Having a drink?” Gavin asks, leaning over the bar pre-emptively. The man seems nervous, maybe tired. He’d like to get him in a seat before he topples over.

“A room.” The stranger says, but then he seems to catch himself. He straightens out, puts on a smile.

It’s very convincing- very distracting. Gavin will give him that.

“Please.” The man says, finishing off the earlier request.

Gavin is so distracted that Geoff takes over for him. He’s thankful for it- he doesn’t remember where his tongue has gone, but it’s no longer in his mouth.

“Three coppers for the room a night and we’ll throw in dinner.” Geoff says over his shoulder- more focused on the glass of strong brew he’s pouring than on his new guest. He’s on auto-pilot.

“Is there still a caravan to the port? It’s been some time-” The man says, trailing off. Geoff turns once the drinks are poured to look over at him.

“It leaves in three days.” Geoff says, looking over his guest. The man seems to go a little more limp under the gaze- like he’s trying to seem plain. Geoff takes in the rough-spun clothes, the long pants- the glint of good leather boots...

“I’ll have three nights then, and boarding for my horse.” The man says- And Gavin can’t be imagining the glint of gold in his fingers as he hands payment over to Geoff, breathing something into his ear and receiving a nod in return.

“Lad,” Geoff says, looking to Gavin now. “Lead our friend up to the empty room on the second floor. Get him anything he needs.”

Gavin nods and moves out from behind the bar and nods his head toward the stairs, their guest follows him. He knows he’s not imagining the effort it takes for the stranger to climb the steep stairs, or how once they turn the corner out of plain view he once again walks differently. He’s got a hand to his side again but he stands straight and tall and very sure. Griffon would call it a power stance- something she learned as a guard for the castle years ago.

Perhaps this man is a guard on the run. Gavin will make sure to keep him out of Michael’s reach- the warrior is not fond of guards (besides Griffon, whom he makes an exception for as she’s retired) . They make his life difficult unnecessarily.

There’s a ring of keys on Gavin’s belt- he slips it off and finds the duo set for the last empty room on the second of three floors and unlocks the room, moving inside the dark space with the ease of someone who’s been inside it before. A few seconds in darkness and then he has the gas lantern flaring to life- a matchstick in his right hand already burning toward his fingers. He hisses as he shakes it out, nearly burning his thumb.

His guest is still waiting outside the door, staring at him.

“Uhm-” Gavin says, stepping backwards away from the door. It almost feels crowded, though this is a spacey room holds only him. “This one’s your key, for your stay.”

He holds out the iron key and watches. The stranger takes a moment, but he ends up stepping into the room and taking the key from Gavin’s fingers. As their hands brush, Gavin can feel the cold touch of his skin- something that should be far warmer. The air that pushes past them at his movement is warmer than his skin.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and Gavin can see the glint of pain at the edges of his eyes.

“Can I-” Gavin starts.

“Your name.” The man asks, looking up.

Gavin is thrown, watching the man look up at him through travel-tossed hair and speak so quietly. He freezes up, but the question hangs in the air.

“Gavin.” He answers, walking backwards toward the door. He remembers his father’s orders, sometime before he reaches the doorway. “Can I get anything for you?”

The man on the bed doesn’t answer for a moment, but then he grimaces and his voice is strong.

“The most potent spirit you have and some bandages, or cotton. Please.” He asks, palming his side again. “And I don’t suppose you might have a needle and thread.”

Gavin feels bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of what those items suggest, but nods his head. They have all of these things- they are not the most savory establishment in all the kingdom after all.

“Right, I’ll get that for you...” Gavin says, trailing off. He does not have a name for the man on the bed.

The stranger’s eyes flicker up through his hair again, looking at Gavin.

“Ryan.” He offers, sounding a bit chuffed at the name.

“Ryan.” Gavin agrees, backing out of the room. “I’ll get those for you then. I’ll just be a moment.”

* * *

Gavin makes good on his promise and brings Ryan a bottle of something clear as crystal that smells stronger than sword polish along with a roll of cloth bandages. There’s also a medium sized needle and a spindle of thick black thread- He’s glad for the color, any red won’t show through.

Once he’s left alone with the door closed, he can laugh about the horrible decisions he’s made.

He pulls off his shirt and throws it to the floor- not worried about the state it’s in so much as the state of his side. The red has completely seeped through Kerry’s quick medical handiwork and left a mark of gore on Ryan’s abdomen. It’s not the worst he’s ever had- There was that jousting accident that gave him the scar peeking out pale and puckered from under and around his right arm- but it’s very near the same. His left-hand side is on fire.

He pulls the cork from the bottle of grain alcohol with his teeth and downs as much of it as he can swallow without sputtering, cursing the burn down his throat. It leaves him hazy enough that peeling off the old bandages and pouring some of the remainder of the alcohol onto the stab wound doesn’t make him scream- even though he has to bite his knuckle as he presses the area dry with a bit of bandage.

The red keeps seeping through- He’s very glad for the needle and thread.

He needs two more long pulls from the bottle before he can tie a good enough knot and hold the needle straight. There’s a moment where he doesn’t exactly remember how to go about sewing something like this up- but then he goes ahead with it anyway. Better to have a closed hole in his side than an open one, even if the stitching is uneven.

How the ladies of the castle can sew all day he’ll never know; but perhaps it is easier when it’s not your own flesh and you’re not drinking to dull the pain.

It takes some time, but he finishes off the task with a grim smile and a heavy knot, pouring just a little more of the bottle onto the wound before he bandages it up as best he can. It’s nothing to his steward’s handiwork, and for a moment he thinks carefully about the young blonde man in his service. Is Kerry safe, he wonders. The Shawcross family is old and full of his friends, but they will never forgive him if their heir is dead because of his unfailable loyalty to the king.

He hopes Kerry is safe. He is too good a boy to die for a King who could not tell his own council was plotting treason.

Ryan leans down so that his head is in his hand, elbow balanced on his knee. His other arm drapes over the edge of the bed with the bottle half empty and limp in his hand. Perhaps, if he is not King enough to protect his own Steward, he would be better off fleeing into the Nightlands than sailing to Burnie for help. What sort of man deserves a kingdom if he cannot hold his castle?

There is a knock on his door.

“Enter.” Ryan says, voice deep and full for a moment. He can hear the command of it through his haze and fights to remove it immediately. He is not King James Haywood, here- He is Ryan.

The man from earlier enters his room, a tray in his arms.

“Something to eat, Ryan?” Gavin asks, head turned away as he shuffles into the door. When he turns forward and sees the mess of the bloody bandages and Ryan’s fresh covered wound he turns flush. It makes Ryan think he’s not a fan of blood.

“Not sure If I could stomach it.” Ryan answers honestly, tapping the significantly lighter bottle against his leg. Gavin doesn’t turn away from him, still staring- It makes Ryan raise an eyebrow.

“Gavin?” He asks.

The man seems to come back to himself.

“Bloody- Wow, look at the state of you. Not to say- You don’t look- I mean... Oh bollocks.” Gavin sputters, setting down the tray on the dresser across the room from the bed.

The haze in Ryan’s head picks out something he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“You’ve got an accent.” Ryan notes, leaning back on the bed and grimacing at the feeling of his stitches pulling. Perhaps he has sewn them too tight.

“Well, yeah- I’m not native.” Gavin says, sweeping dirty bandages toward the doorway with his foot. He doesn’t look like the type to touch them, if he won’t even look at them. “I’m from the Free Lands.”

Ryan feels his eyebrows furrow, confusion written on his face. “The Free lands?”

“You might know them as the Nightlands.” Gavin answers, looking back and meeting Ryan’s eyes. There’s some worry, there. “You didn’t drink that whole bottle, did you?”

Ryan shakes his head. There’s still liquid in the bottle, though he’s becoming more sure he could fix that.

“I’ve been thinking of traveling to the Nightlands.” He says, noting that Gavin is out of focus in front of him. Odd. “Permanently.”

The out of focus man in front of him grimaces, and Ryan is pretty sure that means he disagrees with the idea. The thought makes Ryan chuckle.

“It’s not a very good place.” Gavin says, eyeing the bottle in Ryan’s hands.

“Is that why you left it?” Ryan asks, leaning back further. Now he is flush with the wall next to his bed- and that’s good. Leaning against it takes some of the pressure off of his side. It helps clear his head, some. “Because it’s not a very good place?”

Gavin is messing around with the tray. From where Ryan sits it looks like a pewter mug of ale and a trencher of hollowed out bread filled with meat and cheese. Not bad fare, for a place like this- his gold isn’t being squandered.

“It’s not- well, it’s not an easy place to live. No one to protect the people, there.” Gavin says.

“No King.” Ryan says, remembering lessons about the Nightlands and the people who refused leadership. He’s stuck wondering how he ever got the luck of being able to reach around from the subject of running away to kingship. He’s cursed.

“No.” Gavin agrees. “There are no Kings among the Free men. But I’ve found that living somewhere that has one drastically reduces the risk of dying in your sleep for nothing more than an errant turn of phrase.”

Ryan sees the man’s eyes flicker to the stab wound that’s badly bandaged on his side. He must look a state, after all. He lifts himself up and forward, putting the bottle of alcohol onto the bedside table. He’s had enough of it- he’s a large man but there’s not enough blood in him to hold what he’s had, let alone more.

“Are kings really all that useful, though?” Ryan asks, leaning down and picking up his dirty shirt from the floor.

There’s a quiet laugh from the man across the room.

“Don’t let my mother hear you say that.” Gavin says, picking up the tray and moving it closer- subtly moving the bottle of alcohol out of reach. Ryan can see by the ease of it that he’s done the same to other guests of the inn before- damage control. It shows good forward thinking.

“A Kingsmen through and through?” Ryan asks, feeling something like hope bubble up in his chest. Knowing he’s under the roof of someone who might not turn him to the nearest noble for a purse of gold would be some sort of comfort.

Gavin nods, looking away with his face still rosey. “She’ll gut any man who speaks against King James. But she’s gone for another two days at least- so you won’t have to watch your words too carefully.”

Ryan nods, thinking that over. Perhaps, here, he is safe the night.

Gavin is still kicking around his bandages, but Ryan can feel the heavy pull of sleep. He’d like to keep that matter to himself, as well.

“Thank you for your help, Gavin.” He offers as a dismissal, hoping it doesn’t sound rude. The innkeeper and, apparently, his son- (and how that works, when the older man is no ‘Free man’ at all and his son has an accent from the thick of it he’ll never know) have been more than accommodating. He doesn’t wish to be rude to them and lose what few good things he has.

Luckily, Gavin seems to get the hint.

“Oh- yes, well, Anything you need just knock on the far right door. We’ll answer at any hour.” Gavin says, pulling his arms behind his back as if he needs to hide them to squeeze through the door. “I’ll, ah- I’ll be around, should you need me.”

As the door closes behind Gavin, Ryan’s foggy mind focuses on the unsaid ‘personally’ he’s quite sure Gavin meant to tag onto the end of his sentence. It’s not a bad thought- and a rather appealing offer- but instead Ryan forces himself to stand and lock his door. He stays upright a moment, wobbling, before moving back to the bed and falling to the sheets- and then he gives in to sleep.

* * *

Arriving back at the bar to catcalls is not new- but today if feels a bit more heated than the usual. At least Geoff is off in the other corner of the room, dealing with the backlash of the card game and, apparently, a cheater in their midst.

Caleb, the lad from the port, is apparently hiding cards up his sleeves. That can’t possibly end well.

“Did you get a piece of that? You were up there for a while.” Ray says, leaning over the counter to push a mug at someone who takes it and walks back to a bench in front of the fireplace. He seems to have forgotten that it’s his job to take care of the dishes, which he’s left sitting in the basket on the floor behind the counter. Gavin has no doubt he’ll end up taking care of them himself. Again.

“I bet he tips well.” Lindsay adds, grinning.

Gavin has to try and hold back on his words- because as much as he’d loathe to admit it he’s pretty sure he would have jumped at the chance, and he’d even offered. Ryan hadn’t been in quite the state to agree though, looking like he did.

Gavin shakes his head.

“You’re all mental.” He says. “Blokes just about run through- last thing he needs is a night with this.”

The lad gestures to his lanky frame with both hands. He adds in a hip wiggle for effect, and it sends Michael snorting into his drink- so he’s probably in the clear for teasing.

“Run through? Really?” Ray asks, leaning against the bar. “He didn’t look very hurt.”

“Left side- He was holding it tight right up until he walked in. Up in the room he asked for a roll of bandages and the strong stuff.” Gavin says, watching everyone nodding along. “He sent me off for needle and thread too.”

Both Lindsay and Michael wince at the implications; they’ve been on the other end of that request before.

This is an average night at the inn- there’s always one or two patrons with a story that they try and figure out. Making up backgrounds for people is a game that doesn’t cost them anything but time.

This one is too fun to ignore.

“Highwayman.” Ray says, giving the first guess.

“Guard running away from his squad.” Gavin counters, remembering the way Ryan held himself. It reminded him of his adoptive mother, castle raised and bred for the fight.

“He’s a Northman.” Lindsay says- though that’s far too obvious to be her guess. “So far from home... What could bring him down here?”

“I bet he’s crossed some noble somewhere- made them angry.” Michael says.

“A Northman who fell in love with a noble's daughter, was found with her, stabbed by her brother, and is fleeing from their court by moving as far south as possible.” Lindsay offers, setting down her mug.

“What if he’s noble himself- on the run from something even worse?” Michael asks. ****

The group processes the idea for about thirty seconds, and then they all begin to laugh- loud and boisterous.

Ray is hugging his stomach, caught off guard by the whole idea.

“That guy, a noble? Did you see what he was wearing?” Ray asks.

Gavin can remember the roughspun black shirt and the brown pants. But he also has seen the good leather boots- same as Geoff had noticed. He’s seen the glint of Gold shoved into his father’s fingers and the way the man is built. He’s pale and milky, not tanned the way a working man is.

“I dunno.” Gavin says, leaning back on the bar. “He’s certainly not a farmer- as pale as he is; and his boots are top.”

Lindsay shrugs. “Maybe he’s an ice harvester- they wear good boots don’t they? And they’re pale.”

Gavin has no idea what ice harvesters do or do not wear- but the man upstairs is certainly no merchant or shop keep. He’s a mystery.  

“You’ll have to find out if any of us are right, Gavin. Same as the time with that lady with the fake dragon egg.” Michael says, finishing off his mug and thumping the empty pewter cup back onto the table.

It’s a challenge Gavin accepts the same way that Caleb accepts defeat and pools his card game winnings back onto the table, standing next to Geoff looking sullen as the men he’d tried to swindle collect their money back and eye him for a cheat.

Gavin of the Free has three days to figure Ryan out, just in time for the caravan to the Port takes him away.

He pours another round of drinks and lets the night slip away to early morning, thinking about all the work he has to do and the mystery man upstairs he needs to figure out.


	2. A Feast Day for Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan continues his stay at the Ramsey Inn, spending some time with Gavin and the rest of the residents as he gets the hang of common life.

For one blissful moment as he wakes up, Ryan can imagine that he is in his own bed and that nothing from his previous day was anything more than a dream.

 Then the ache in his head appears, the ache in his side persists- and that all proves just how real his whole predicament is. The runaway King wakes up to the sun turning the sky outside of his room’s thick-paned glass window to a more discernible blue- and a bed that is made of padded straw in a room of hardwood and no more furnishings than are necessary.

 The inn is a far cry from his usual bedroom, layered in tapestries and carpets and all manner of tables and chairs. Where he lays is far less comfortable than his own feather bed and far less warm than the room in his castle which is heated by it’s own fireplace.

 Still, if he were in his own bed he’d more than likely have his throat slit as he slept-- here he may not be whole (the way the bandages tug against his butchered skin reminds him of that) but at the very least he is in as many pieces waking up as he was going to sleep.

 He cracks his eyes open half-way and immediately shuts them again as what little light there is assaults his senses. Drinking was the only way to numb his pain the night before and it has left its mark. Ryan’s tongue feels heavy and dull, his head throbs with his heartbeats. The king cannot remember a hangover like this in all his memory.

 No matter what sort of man his host might be- he is no swindler. When Geoff’s guests ask for the strongest spirit he has they receive exactly what they have asked for.

 Ryan is glad for the draught of ale on his bedside table, where Gavin left his dinner tray the night before. He’s inclined to glare at the bottle that caused half his pain while he downs the stale drink to replenish some of the liquid gone from his body, and then as he sets the mug down he’s inclined to pick up said bottle and move it as quickly as he can out of his line of sight and under the bed.

 He’s had plenty enough of that vice- he’ll stick to plain ale the rest of his stay.

 The thought drags his mind away from his aches and back to his situation. He has three day’s stay here at the inn until the caravan moves to the port. He knows he cannot risk going on his own with the Great Wood’s roads so treacherous and full of rogues- but he wonders if there’s not some other way to get on the move sooner.

 Surely there are men mad enough to accompany him into the wood for a price...

 But, then again, any men willing to go into the wood in a small group to protect one man for payment would more than likely also be mad enough to assault him, take their payment by force, and then leave him for dead.

 He could ask a local noble for assistance- but Ryan cannot quite remember which minor lord of his holds standing on this land and so he cannot be sure of their regard in him.

 He could chance it- ask the innkeeper who his landlord is, where their hall is, make his way there and demand their fealty as their king... If they gave him a group of guards he could make it safe to port days sooner.

 The risk is too great that whichever lord it is will be more happy to band together with his councilmen for a raise in status- so Ryan will let that idea rest. He’d much rather keep his head on his shoulders.

 The Caravan it is.

 If he’s to stay three days at the inn he intends to spend as much of the time as he can far away from other people. The last thing he needs is to be spotted and have his identity thrown to the world. However, there is the small matter of making sure that his horse was well tended to after he absconded so quickly to his room the night before, and the ale was enough to whet his thirst and clear his tongue but Ryan is thirsty enough to drain three more mugs at least.

 He’ll need to ask for water and check the stable- then he can hide himself away again.

 So Ryan bends himself down to tug his roughspun shirt off the floor and shakes it free of dirt. Black is a merciful color- much more so than the red and ermine he’s like the wear normally, it reflects nothing of the blood and sweat that must have soaked it on his ride to the inn. He pulls it on over his disheveled hair with only a grunt of discomfort.

 There’s a polished tin mirror on the wall which reflects something of his visage when he stands, and he takes a moment to at least try and tidy his hair before giving up and pocketing his room key. He forgoes his cloak- sure that the chilly morning air outside will do wonders to clear his head- and then leaves his room.

 The hallway on the second floor is dark and quiet save the sounds of sleep- someone is snoring in the room across from his own and there are muffled ‘don’t wake up dad’ children’s giggles on the floor above. Ryan closes his door quietly and makes his way across the wooden floor toward the end of the hall at the very far right- just across from the staircase that would bring him back downstairs to the room of tables and chairs. There are two doors, here, which have a wreath of flowers and a horseshoe respectively over their arches- and each has it’s own iron knocker.

 Ryan knows enough about commoners customs to realize that the wreath means a married couple- probably the room for the innkeeper and his wife. The horseshoe room must be Gavins. He wonders what sort of Nightlands tradition it is- keeping a fallen shoe over the door.

 He’s about to knock, remembering that Gavin had told him to call at any hour, when he hears the shuffle of dishes and mugs on the first floor down the stairs. He lowers his hand from the knocker, listening. When he is sure he’s not imagining the noises he takes one last glance at Gavin’s door and takes the stairs down; if someone is already awake- why risk ruining the sleep of someone else?

 Ryan is expecting the innkeeper or Gavin behind the bar, instead there are two young men he does not recognize standing there taking care of dishes. The taller is grumbling, wearing what looks like a borrowed apron and bells around his wrist- the bandana on his head giving him the look of a sailor as he scrubs something with a towel. The other is a bespeckled youth who’s chatting away while he puts dishes on the shelves lining the wall behind the bar.

 “-then you shouldn’t have cheated at cards.” The one with glasses finishes, still turned around toward his work. “Even I could have told you this was inevitable- It’s your third offense and you’ve cost Geoff money.”

 “This is slavery.” The other man replies, scrubbing harder. “I am a free man.”

 “Caleb you are a caravan away from port, the first mate agreed to this, and you suck at cheating at cards.” The shorter one says. Ryan’s sure he hears a smile in the tone.

 “You know as well as I do they only accused me because they were losing.” Caleb says, bells ringing as he dries a wooden bowl.

 “But you _were_ cheating”

 “But Kdin, do I ever get _caught_?”

 “Three times you have.” Kdin says, turning around finally with a grin on his face. He spots Ryan at the base of the stairs immediately. “Hello sir, and good morning.”

 Ryan’s a bit thrown by the change in regime, to be honest. Last night even through a haze of pain he’d been able to see how well the innkeeper (who must be Geoff) and Gavin worked together behind the bar and on the floor. There might have been one or two others around serving drinks- but he certainly doesn’t remember these faces.

 Then again, working the long night would get a bit tiring supposing you had to wake up the next morning early to do it all again. These two must be the morning crew for the inn- for the quiet hours.

 “Can I get you a drink?” Kdin asks, finally- and Ryan realizes he has been ignoring him.

 “Water, please.” He asks, trying on a smile for the other man. He’s rewarded with a nod and a quick turn toward a barrel behind the bar that Kdin taps to fill a mug with crisp clear water.

 He hands it over, and Ryan tries to be careful with how quickly he drinks it. He can almost feel his skin coming back to life and his head clearing with the drink. The two behind the counter continue to bicker as he hydrates.

 “How about you show me proof I was looking at their cards?”

 “I think the bells on your wrist are proof enough.”

 It reminds Ryan, unhappily, of the lords in his castle- most of them are awful children just like these two- only much more blood thirsty.

 “Well _you_ plebs certainly sound happy to be up early.”

 The voice is familiar, and Ryan lowers the mug from his lips to turn around and see Gavin at the base of the stairs. He looks disheveled and unhappy and tired- changed from what he was wearing the day before. Now he’s in Green and brown- all of it hidden under a forest green wool cloak with the hood thrown back away from his head. It looks like he hasn’t even tried to brush his hair.

 “Morning Gav.” Kdin says, pulling a small burlap bag up from under the counter.

 “Slave driver.” Caleb greets.

 “Kdin, Card-looker.” Gavin responds in turn, looking a bit less grim as he takes in the lack of a crowd- and the only guest up and about. “Morning Ryan.”

 “G’morning.” Ryan greets back, trying to pretend he can’t see Gavin’s eyes all over him. He must look a mess in a wrinkled shirt and slept-in pants. He’s pulled his sleeves up, so his arms are bare. At least he knows he won’t be mistaken for a king.

 “Sleep well? No complaints?” Gavin asks. To Ryan it sounds like the normal questions an innkeeper asks his customers- yet there’s other questions below the words. He almost feels like he’ll reveal himself answering.

 He nods to start. “No complaints- I slept through the night.”

 “The hard stuff’ll do that.” Gavin says.

 He’s reaching a hand over the bar for the burlap bag Kdin has pulled up and a small cast iron dish full of gravy and lumps of meat. “Glad to hear you slept though. I’ll leave you be.”

 “Go feed your cats.” Caleb mutters, head on the bar next to the pile of still slightly damp mugs he’s yet to dry.

 “I think I will. And the horses- since mum’s not here and Ray’s a mincy little prick who doesn’t do mornings.”

 Ryan’s quite sure Gavin doesn’t either.

 He sets his mug down on the counter, empty, right next to Caleb. He’s rather fond of the glare he gets in return. “I’ll accompany you to the stables, if that’s alright. I need to check on my horse.”

 “You’ll be absolutely freezing. It’s nearly Winter’s Eve.” Gavin says, looking him over once and noting the lack of cloak, no doubt.

 “I’ve felt colder.” Ran says, and he’s not lying. The southern hills and their morning chills are nothing compared to the castle in the north.

* * *

Either Ryan is not lying about having felt far colder, or he’s very good at hiding discomfort. Gavin feels the bite of the air almost immediately upon exiting the inn, the breeze bringing in the wind of the North and pulling at the hem of his cloak. Ryan walks as if it’s a warm summer day.

 It’s ice in Gavin’s veins, making him hunch in on himself- but he’s always been one who gets cold easily.

 The quiet that falls once he’s out of the inn with Ryan isn’t uncomfortable- it’s proof that they’re both tired and weary. Unlike Gavin, the guests’ eyes open wider once he’s breathing in chill air and he seems more alert- enough that when they approach the stable and he hears a horse whinny, he smiles broadly.

 “Loud then, isn’t he?” Gavin asks, figuring Ryan has recognized the sound of his horse.

 “He’s a talker.” Ryan gives back in answer, heading into the doors without waiting for Gavin.

 Once he’s inside, Gavin feels the bite of the wind die down, replaced with the warmth of the animals inside. There’s at least ten horses in their own stalls and all of them toss their heads at the approach of humans. Ryan’s own dark horse is accepting the quiet inspection of it’s owner with only a nicker.

 Gavin inspects it too as he sets down the dish of leftover stew on a bench for the cats (Wherever they are) and pulls open the drawstring on the burlap bag of oats. The horse is sleek and black- well bred. It could be a war horse, he thinks, but it seems far more suited to speed. A hunter maybe- tough and nimble in equal measure.

 He doubts an ice harvester needs a horse like that. But a guard? That still seems like a possibility-- especially if he’s on the run.

 The first horse he gives a scoop of oats to attempts to bite his digits off in his haste to get the food.

 “Oi, Hidalgo- not my fingers.” He squawks, moving on the the more mildly tempered horse next to it. It has it’s tail over the barrier between stalls, pushing itself into Hidalgo’s space. It moves once it’s offered oats- and Gavin continues on down the line from Michael and Lindsay’s horses to distribute oats to everyone else.

 He leaves Ryan’s horse for last, just after he’s finished feeding Grisham, (“Lovely little Grisham, carrots later- maybe. Be nice) because he should really take a break from staring at Ryan. The man is bleary eyed but sound in speech, even hungover he looks like he could take a punch and dish out more than that-

 And Gavin cannot help but think of his rumpled appearance in regards to other activities he could only dream about the night before.

 Flushing from the bite of a cold breeze and his own thoughts, Gavin slides up next to Ryan to offer the bag of oats. He watches his guest scoop his own horses food into his stall and then draws the string on the bag closed, turning away.

 “Gavin-”

 He whirls around, a bit unsteady. Ryan’s looking at him with a curiously amused expression all over his face.

 “Yes?” Gavin asks. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. He’s always had an over-eager imagination and it’s nearly Winters Eve and it’s so bloody _cold_ outside. He could use some help warming up-

 “I think your cats may be bothering your horse.”

 Gavin spins around again and squeaks, because Ryan is correct. Two cats are tip-toeing their way around Grishams stall, sending the easily-scared horse stomping around. He drops the bag of oats to rush over, earlier thoughts forgotten.

 “Lloyd no- Egg, just- Stop that you two, HEY.” Gavin says, grabbing one cat around the middle and tucking it under his arm as it appears to go the consistency of putty. The other mews and then jumps into the dish the horses oats were left in. “Lloyd no, you don’t even _eat_ oats.”

 Gavin picks the other cat up as fast as he can because he can hear Ryan starting to laugh behind him, and apparently he can’t be anything but an embarrassment in front of people he’d like to be suave for. He drops the cats on the bench he left their food dish on, leaving them to sort out who’s going to eat breakfast first. At least they won’t bother the horses if they’re bothering each other.

 He finds Ryan staring at him when he turns back around. He’s laughing, bag of oats clutched in his hand.

 Gavin frowns.

 “You have a way with animals.” Ryan says, and Gavin feels his face grow even more miserable. He pulls the bag away from Ryan, ready to be done with it- but Ryan’s fingers catch on his own.

 There’s a slight pressure there in the pads of his fingers on Gavin’s wrist- a little promise. He lets go quickly, but Gavin nearly loses hold of the bag of oats trying to trail after his hand.

 “W-with animals, yeah, I guess.” Gavin breathes, pulling the bag of oats to his chest. Ryan smiles.

 “Right.” Ryan says- and then there’s that silence, again. They’re left staring at each other, waiting for something.

 Gavin startles as Ryan’s horse whinnies, breaking the moment. He mutters something quickly about having other chores to take care of- He’s got to get some payment to the blacksmith and run to the cobblers and the bakery- before darting out of the barn.

 He swears he can hear Ryan’s laugh following after him.

* * *

Ryan’s tempted to take his horse out for a ride, but Edgar is busy happily eating his oats and he seems well enough in the barn that Ryan leaves him alone. He deserves a few days rest- they have quite a trek ahead of them to the port.

 From there, Ryan’s not sure what to do with him. Horses do not travel well on ships. He may have to leave Edgar behind.

 That’s a sour thought after his brief but enjoyable encounter with Gavin.

 Watching the cats in the corner circle each other before playfully pouncing onto (Or into) their food dish reminds him about how he’d laughed. He can’t really remember laughing much before running away, honestly. False laughter, sure-- or in secret behind closed doors with his steward when Kerry cracked a tense joke, but not so freely and without forethought.

 There’s no point in hoping Gavin didn’t notice how Ryan’s fingers had lingered on his own, but he can hope he hasn’t embarrassed himself completely. He couldn’t help himself after remembering the offer of the night before, how tempting it had been. He wonders if Gavin feels the same, after his little show of juggling the bag of oats. It’s a testament to the idea that has Ryan check for Gavin’s figure before leaving the barn, looking out into the now sunny yard and then heading back to the inn with a careful gait.

 Inside the building has livened up- People are awake and downstairs with trenchers of eggs and hash or just some fruit. One or two people are already in the bottle, but they seem to be regulars with how Kdin handles them effortlessly and keeps their miserable attention away from the more reasonable crowd.

 Caleb has been stuffed by the fire to stoke it and warm the room, his bells jingling every time he moves the poker and reminding everyone of why he’s working instead of playing cards. Geoff has appeared and is working the morning crowd, easily walking between tables and joking with his guests.

 It’s nice- cozy even. Geoff reminds Ryan of some of his Courtiers back home, the men and women he trusts to keep his guests at feasts entertained the whole night through with jokes and political talk and stories- He walks effortlessly between tables and around chairs and benches and messes with kids hair and adults shoulders and everyone smiles.

 The gift of making people like you is a lucky one to have- and Geoff certainly embodies it.

 But Ryan is still feeling the dull throb of his hangover- so he shakes his head at Kdin’s offered plate of hash and only takes the mug of water beside it before heading back up the stairs and leaving the warm common room behind to wrap himself back up in the blanket on his bed upstairs.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, though, he does get hungry.

 The dull ache of the hangover is gone and there’s nothing left of his water. A brief nap and he feels refreshed and most importantly bored. He had no idea being on the run would be so dull- No one ever expects the waiting aspect of the whole thing. He certainly hadn’t.

 Ryan is used to running drills in the yard with his master of sword, planning feasts and meetings with Kerry, talking war and trade with his councilmen- He is not used to a life of merely waiting.

 So, despite how he’d assumed he would keep as far away from the common room as possible to prevent risking his neck, Ryan travels down the stairs again in the late afternoon to find the area rather empty besides a man with a necklace of bear’s teeth, a few quiet guests playing cards, Geoff, and one of the people he’s noticed running drinks around when he’d first arrived the night before.

 The innkeeper nods at him in greeting and offers up a mug, so Ryan takes a seat next to the Warrior at the bar instead of finding a table to watch people from and takes a sip. He’s surprised when the drink is foamy cider, something he assumed commoners only drank on holidays.

 The warrior has been speaking the whole time, non-stop, so Ryan tunes into the conversation. He’s being loud enough that Ryan assumes it’s not rude to do so.

 “And I say to him ‘Well what the fuck are you going to do about it?’ and the fucker starts swinging his sword at me! I didn’t threaten him, didn’t even step out of line! They’re getting worse.” He says, palms flat on the bar.

 Geoff hums non-committedly, rubbing his dust cloth over the bar in the same place over and over again in circles.

 “Geoff.” The man insists, waiting on a comment.

 “Michael.” Geoff says, straight back. He’s grinning. “You have a thing about guards.”

 “I have a thing about assholes.” Michael shoots back.

 There’s a muffled “Can’t wait to tell Lindsay about that one!” from the man at the opposite end of the bar stacking dishes that Michael answers with a “Shut the fuck up Ray.” before Geoff continues speaking as if Michael never interrupted him.

 “You don’t like authority figures. Admit it.” Geoff says, grinning. “You think all guards are fucked up high on power and out to get you.”

 “I do not!” Michael insists, fingers curling into claws. “I think Griffon’s okay!”

 “That’s one- retired- and my wife. You’d better like her.” Geoff says, eyes flickering to catch the bemused smile on Ryan’s face.

 “There’s more than her-” Michael starts.

 Geoff looks like he wants to laugh, but can’ stand ruining the moment. “Oh yeah, who else?”

 With a huff Michael falls silent, thinking. It takes a minute, but he snaps his fingers.

 “Dan.”

 Geoff raises an eyebrow.

 “Gavin’s friend from the Freelands?” He asks, and Michael nods. “The same Dan of the Freelands who guards the Freelands?” Another nod. “The one who purposely lets people from this kingdom into his own because he hates it there and hopes you’ll end up killing everyone so he can leave?”

 Michael nods, smiles- Geoff sighs.

 “Of course you like him, he basically _gives away_ bounties to you guys!” Geoff says, rolling his eyes.

 “I never said I liked him for admirable reasons.” Michael insists, putting his mug back to his lips and draining it.

 “Gonna save some of that for later?” Geoff asks ruefully, watching with a raised eyebrow.

 “Why bother? It’s the Smith’s Day- you’ll be giving out Cider all night and I intend to take full advantage of that fact.”

 Oh- So that’s what’s going on.

 Ryan takes another sip of his cider and lets it warm him up, the chill of his bedroom proof enough of Michael’s claim. The Smith’s Day celebrations always happened just before Winter’s Eve; some commoner’s holiday for the god of the forge. The North hardly celebrated it, but the people of the South were mad for it. No doubt the town blacksmithy would be in more than good company tonight.

 He couldn’t really remember how the celebration went- was there something with a metal hoop? A hammer? There were so many more traditions that commoners had than nobility. The nobility just had a dinner and a dance or two- no weird candles and walking through the whole town banging on pots and pans-

 Was that the sound he was hearing?

 It was getting louder by the second, some singing in the mix but mostly a cacophony of pots and pans being slammed against each other or with wooden spoons. Some music, maybe- but it was faint.

 And then the doors come open, and it is no longer faint.

 The whole town must be there- children in the lead with pots and pans and wooden spoons banging away with a joyful bearded singer behind them, a ring in his nose. Two men in motley follow the musician and then there’s the bulk of the townspeople all surrounding a man with a large orange beard in a blacksmith’s smock- hammer in his right hand and a heavy kettle over his left shoulder- held aloft with one hand.

 It’s an impressive display; Ryan claps just as hard as the rest of the people crowded into the inn when the blacksmith throws the kettle into the smouldering fireplace in the corner of the room and hits it once with his hammer- the crowd cheers.

 “Ay Jack! Smith of our town!” Geoff calls from behind the bar. “To The Smith and his Crew!”

 “To the Smith and his Crew!” The crowd chants back, and Jack is grinning.

 “To the Smith down Below!” Geoff calls out, obviously taking the lead.

 “To the Smith down Below!” Calls the crowd.

 “To the Smiths in the west!” Geoff calls.

 “To the Smiths in the East, To the Smiths in the South, To the Smiths in the North!” The crowd chants back.

 Ryan takes up that cry too, catching on. It’s infectious.

 “And to the Smith of the Land!” Geoff calls.

 The farmers in the crowd cheer.

 “To the Smiths of the sea!” Geoff says.

 Caleb and his other crewmates cheer, caught in the excitement.

 “To the Smiths of our hearts!” Geoff says, and he looks a little sadly at the place next to him- probably wishing he was kissing his partner as several other people in the crowd have.

 “To the Smiths of the kingdom- _To the Smith and his Crew_!” Geoff calls finally, ending the yelling with a mug in the air. The inn cheers all at once together- and then suddenly Gavin is behind the bar too and there’s cider being passed around like mad. Ray is running back and forth with trays of it and Kdin has appeared to help- Geoff and Gavin are filling mugs as fast as they can.

 Ryan helps a bit, passing trays over his head back and forth so that Ray and Kdin don’t have to keep moving around to the back of the bar. Everyone’s loud and obnoxious- but it’s hardly an awful sight. There’s laughter and far too much talking.

 Ryan can’t stop grinning.

 And then, as the mugs finally slow, the two men in motley jump onto a table.

 “Alright then Shannon?” The one asks- a man with dark hair and an absent smile.

 “Alright Joel.” The other says, no hair and a glint in his eyes. “Adam?”

 The Musician, sitting on a chair in between them below the table, merely strums his instrument.

 “Right.” The two in motley say together.

 There’s a pause, and then Adam is playing music and the whole inn is clapping again, this time together in rhythm.

  _“The Father took up off the ground a rock too big to see-”_ Says Joel.

  _“And The Mother took that rock and said ‘I know just what it’ll be!”_ Says Shannon.

 They take turns, Joel and Shannon and back again, line by line.

  _“ ‘Let me see’ said the knight with all their armor shining gold.”_

  _“I’’l have a look said the small servant, growing ever bold.”_

  _“But none of them could, despite their words- take upon them this large task”_

  _“Of making us a place to live-”_

  _“So the Smith was who they asked!”_ The crowd cheers back- laughing through the familiar song.

 Ryan is smiling giddy, and Michael looks curious next to him- and Gavin is watching too, so Ryan speaks over the sound of the crowd.

 “I’ve never heard the story told like this!” Ryan says, trying to pay attention as Joel readies for the next verse. “It’s all scripture where I’m from!”

 “What a boring way to learn it!” Gavin shouts back, whooping as Adam begins to play harder.

  _“The Smith took up the great big stone_

_and they turned it round and round_

_used their hammer to mold the sea_

_and then built up the ground_

_and once that was done_

_they sent it off_

_for the others to do their part_

_But from the Smith we get our rock’s...”_

 “ _Molten Golden Heart_!” The crowd cheers- and the music trails off into another round of pots and pans banging as Jack is lifted up onto the table between the players and a yellow scarf is wrapped around his neck as he laughs- shimmering in the lamplight as the sky grows dark outside.

 “You’ve really never heard the song?” Michael asks, still curious. There’s a woman to his side now, bright red hair and a necklace of wolf’s teeth around her neck to match his bear claws.

 “No never.” Ryan answers earnestly.

 “I hadn’t before I came here-” Gavin offers, leaning over the bar. “Don’t have this in the Freelands.”

 “There’s nothing in the Freelands but Free people!” Ray says over his shoulder, appearing with another empty tray. “No Gods for the Free Folk.”

 “Well I’ve got them now!” Gavin says, grinning. “All five of them right here.”

 He gives a little tap to his chest, right over his heart.

 “Yeah well you’re hardly Free any more.” Geoff offers from over Gavin’s shoulder.

 “It’s in my bollocksing name!”

 “It’s Ramsey-Free, idiot. That first part ties you down and you know it!”

 Geoff looks fiercely proud of that, light of the Father in his eyes, and Gavin grins right back- happily not disputing it. They all turn back to their work after a moment, and Ryan turns back to the traveling players- who are making comedic and serious toasts in turns, draining half-full mugs. They’ll be plastered by the end of the night.

 “To the guard and their regiment, may we always pay our tolls!” Shannon says, draining a mug and tossing it into the crowd.

 “To the innkeeper!” Joel suggests, and the crowd cheers while Geoff waves. “Modest and good all at once. The pinnacle of our people- the brightest among our stars, a beacon of charity--”

“You’re still paying for a room, Heyman!” Geoff shouts, hands cupped over his mouth.

 “--May his wife gut him and _take the business_!” Joel finishes, and drains his mug as the crowd laughs and Geoff waves an obscene finger at him.

 Ryan laughs too, but the next toast sobers him considerably.

 “To the kingdom! And all it’s many merits!” Shannon cries. The crowd cheers, but Joel continues the call.

 “And our true Father King James Haywood- First of his name! He who took the throne and sat upon it and declared it good.” Joel snarks, and the crowd laughs. Geoff looks a bit pissy at the jab toward the king, but doesn’t speak out against it.

 Ryan feels shame, deep in his gut.

 When he took the throne his father was old a weary- but alive. He took it merely to keep the man from having to do so much in his old age, and until he passed on things had remained mostly the same out of respect-- but when he’d died just a few short years ago Ryan had finally implemented his changes.

 Perhaps he should have done so when the old king was still alive- then the councilmen might have had some respect for him instead of thinking they’d be better off getting rid of him.

 The toasts have turned into slurred half-phrases by the time Joel and Shannon abscond from the table, leaving Jack to try and hop off all on his own. The crowd catches him well enough before he falls over- and he heads to the bar despite all the hands around him and the cheers of ‘Jack!’ and ‘Smithy Pattillo!’. Someone gives up a seat for him, and then he’s on Ryan’s other side, opposite Michael.

 As the music starts up and people start moving chairs and tables to clear room for dancing, Jack accepts a mug of cider from Geoff, grinning.

 The group begins to talk, and Ryan is surprised when he’s sucked right into the conversation. Michael introduces Lindsay- Ray himself. Caleb appears from somewhere with a bowl full of empty mugs and he flings them at Geoff, looking cross while the innkeeper laughs. There are plenty of words about the Smithy, about the dancing and the singing and the music. They keep a respectful distance from questions of Ryan’s origins, and he’s thankful for that. He knows the warriors must understand not wanting to talk about every facet of life, anyway.

 Gavin is behind the bar still, but he’s looking out to the dance floor as it forms up like he’d rather be out there. He’s tapping fingers on the bar in time to the tune and nodding his head, looking thoughtful. Eventually Geoff catches the look, smiling.

 “Grab a dance or two, Gav. Find a pretty one for me- since I can’t enjoy it while your mother’s not here.” He suggests, and then Gavin’s grinning.

 And he locks eyes with Ryan, who remembers clingy fingers in the barn that morning and an offer the night before- and his mouth goes dry.

 He nods, and when Gavin comes out from Around the bar there’s no one to stop him from tugging Ryan up by the arm and pulling him out to the floor.

 Dancing with Gavin Ramsey-Free is nothing like dancing at the castle.

 Nobles are still and sure footed, the same way Ryan is. Especially with his side still injured- stitched together with thread and a prayer- he’s slow and formal and very hard to move. Gavin and the rest of the dance floor are a wash of limbs and heat and quick movements and spinning circles. Gavin throws the two of them into one of the three spinning on the floor and it sucks them in until Ryan’s holding the hands of two strangers and moving five to the left- five to the right, spin to the back, arms in the air, clap twice, spin back, take your partners hand across the circle, spin reverse into each others spots- repeat. He’s out of breath and laughing from the audacity of it- the pure _fun_.

So when Gavin pulls him out of the circle two dances in he’s a bit disappointed. He thinks about throwing himself back into the dance until Gavin is tugging him outside and around the back of the inn to where it’s cool and dark- the air is humid and it’s like quenching a thirst because he didn’t know he was so flushed from dancing--

 And then Gavin Ramsey-Free is in his arms and it’s another thirst being quenched, neither of them asking just going for it and there’s no one to see them or question it for them. Gavin kisses like a starving man, all tongue and bite and pushing Ryan against the wall until he catches his wind and spins them around so that Gavin’s back is against the inn his father owns and Ryan’s hands are on either side of his head, pushing back against the building like it’s trying to tell him no.

 Ryan wonders if down here in the south, where the commoners sing rhyming songs instead of respectful hymns, the Mother and Father look a little less carefully at their children and how they choose to celebrate their Smith’s holiday.

 He certainly hopes they do- or they just might want to look away entirely, because tonight- after cider and dancing and a little promise of fingertips in the barn- Ryan isn’t even going to let the traitorous hole in his side make him turn down Gavin’s offer.

And Gavin certainly is offering.

* * *

Waking up for his second day at the inn is far easier than Ryan anticipated- even if his bed feels cold again.

 His head doesn’t pound this morning, because Cider is far easier on him than whatever spirit he’d used to clean his wounds the first night- and the second night was definitely kinder to him than the first. Gavin Ramsey-Free speaks for that--

 Except Gavin is not in his bed; his bed is cold.

 And Ryan can’t be sure why.

 For as kind as the cider was, he can’t remember the night before past dancing and a feverish meeting on the outside wall of the inn. There’s a flash of bed and sheets and limbs but he’s not sure what that is or what it means.

 He’s still wearing his clothes, two days wrinkled now, so he supposes it’s not what it looks like. There’s certainly no one here to wake up to.

 He tugs on his boots and wipes at his face, trying to see past the fog in his head. Nothing, absolutely nothing. There is a mug of water on his bedside table, a fresh towel on the nightstand below the tin mirror with a bowl of water. He uses it to wash his face and hands and to wake himself up- because otherwise he won’t be able to think.

 Oh, he remembers.

  _“You’re drunk-” Gavin says, laughing about it for a moment on the edge of the bed, lips on his neck and teeth there too._

_“A bit.” Ryan admits, hands on Gavin’s shoulders._

_“Then I don’t want to-” He’s saying, breath heavy._

_“What” Ryan asks, interrupting. What could be a problem, here?_

_“--Force you.”_

 “Ah.” Ryan says, the haze in his head receding. _Ah._ Gavin Free is too good a man for his own good and James Ryan Haywood is very bad at holding his cider. Perhaps Northmen are meant to drink hard liquor more so than sweet drinks.

 He’ll keep that in mind, but for now he’s embarrassed by his tolerance and pining for something he didn’t quite get too and there’s still a small fog of courage in his head. He thinks of the day before, fingertips in the barn, and throws his cloak over his shoulders to keep out the chill of his empty room and to hide his rumpled appearance as he leaves his place and takes the stairs down.

 The inn still has people around- fallen asleep at tables and benches, Kdin and Caleb moving between them to pick up mugs and plates and bowls. Kdin gives him a smile and Ryan sends back a nod before continuing out the door.

 The yard is crisp and bright, because the sun is up. Everything is late today. Everyone sleeping in.

 Gavin is not in the barn, he finds- but Lindsay is.

 The Red-headed warrior is with her horse, the one in the stall next to the one Gavin called Hidalgo. She’s brushing it’s mane slowly, combing out brambles from what must have been an early morning ride through thickets and burrs.

 He smiles at her and visits with his own horse- noting the Oats already in his dish and knowing he’s missed Gavin by a hair.

 “He’ll be out back.”

 Ryan turns to look at Lindsay, who’s grinning.

 “What?” He asks, a bit thrown off.

 “Gavin.” Lindsay says, and it answers everything. Or it should. “He’ll be out back- way back. You’ve got that look about you.”

 “What look?”

 “The Gavin Ramsey-Free wasn’t where I expected him to be this morning look.” Lindsay answers, and then she turns back to her horse.

 Ryan is embarrassed but she’s given him good information (And maybe a complex) so he gives Edgar one last pat on the nose and then heads out- wrapping his cloak tighter around himself when the air bites.

 He hears the _‘thwang’_ of a bowstring before he catches Gavin, and because of that he’s able to slow down his walk in time to watch.

 Gavin is standing way out in front of a bale of hay with a burlap target tied to it, circled painted on it to signify the placement. It’s rudimentary and crude, but the bow in his hands is sleek and well made-

And every arrow that he pulls from the quiver at his feet hits the target.

Every single one.

 The man is so concentrated on his task that he doesn’t catch Ryan watching until his last arrow is out and in the bale, center of the target littered with arrows and the few around the edges meant to be there, as if he’d been making a pattern with them.

 “You’re good.” Ryan says, raising his voice a bit because he’d stayed out of the way, safety was important. “You ever think about the corps?”

 He could use a man like Ramsey Free- with aim like that. A little training and he’d be a fine soldier- a good guard too.

 Gavin grins, ignoring his arrows and slinging the empty quiver over his shoulder to walk over to Ryan- he looks happy to see him.

 “Well they’d hardly take a man by the name of free.” Gavin says, and Ryan purses his lips. It’s true that they wouldn’t, normally...

 Gavin is still talking.

 “Do you do anything?” He asks, and Ryan must look confused, because he phrases it differently. “Like archery- or?”

 “Swordplay.” Ryan says automatically- thinking about his blade back home. “And some work with daggers. Nothing spectacular.”

 He needs to stay away from that topic- because castle training is so easy to spot.

 He doesn’t have to worry about it- because the subject changes itself.

 “Griffon!”

 Gavin’s face lights up while Ryan is still trailing from the word spectacular, and he runs off past him without a word, heading for the edge of the building past the barn when Ryan’s just come from. There are flying limbs and a flash of blonde hair before the woman he’s speaking about is completely covered in Gavin, absorbed into his being with the happiness of a boy who’s finally seeing his mother after a long time off.

 Ryan’s happy for him- Geoff seemed a bit upset at her absence and Gavin seems overjoyed to be hugging her, and there’s a fondness curling in the pit of Ryan’s stomach for the innkeeper's son that’s making it hard not to enjoy anything he finds the slightest bit happy.

 Ryan thinks he would definitely enjoy Griffon’s company, the way she laughs as Gavin finally lets go of her and grabs her hand, trailing back toward the bale of hay like an excited puppy. He thinks he’d like to meet the other benefactor of this pub, the retired guard that Gavin and Geoff speak so highly about. He thinks that.

 But then Gavin drags her closer and Ryan sees her face, and her nose, and her arms- all the tattoos and the bracelets and the bangles; and he recognizes them. He recognizes the arms of a guard he’d known as a teenager- who’d be going on to bigger and better things, she said, as she bid her Prince and charge farewell one day with his father’s leave.

 And Ryan see’s the recognition in Griffon’s eyes- he sees her recognize a prince-

 Ryan feels the world freeze on his fingertips, because he’s been discovered.

 And it’s up to Griffon to decide what that means.


	3. A Coal Thrown in the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's fate is in the hands of a retired guard turned innkeeper, Gavin learns a little more about his newest friend, and the local nobility come to call.

A pin could drop, break the tension, and Ryan would give it a knighthood and it’s own arable land. He feels a rushing in his ears that must be his heartbeat- a roaring in his chest that passes for breathing.

Griffon is still staring at him, just looking - like she’s _waiting_ for something.

Ryan vaguely remembers that look- and it takes a moment but he remembers more. He has a history with this woman: She was his guard and companion some many years ago. She knows him- probably far better than he knows himself, at this point.

He pulls his right hand closer to his waist and pushes his thumb through his ring and middle fingers. A signal.

 _Secret_. He thinks. _Please, this is a secret. Keep me a secret_.

It’s the same as when he was a child- when he was forced to keep guards at his side by his father’s orders. They became more companions with swords than guards- no more official in their station than they had to be. He can remember flicking his thumb in between his fingers when he intended for a comment to remain private- for a conversation to remain out of his Father’s ears. They would laugh about it after- pretending that they hadn’t found Ryan sneaking off to fist fights in taverns and pretending that he was just another youth- maybe a guard in training as he shared a table and a bottle of mead with them.

His companions were always loyal to him, then- they’d never denied him his secrets.

Ryan doesn’t think Griffon sees the signal because he hasn’t seen her eyes leave his face once, she’s far too concentrated on taking in the whole of him-- taking stock of the entire situation. Her gaze feels like it could bore holes straight into his skin.

What must he look like, he thinks, to someone who knew him as he was? Even as a teenage prince he was regal and fair- more prone to dress kilts and fine leather bracers and thick heavy swords than he had any right to be. Here he is two days slept in a bed of pressed hay- wrinkled and unkempt in a common man’s clothes and wielding no weapon but the dagger hidden in his boot.

Griffon tilts her head to the right, like a bird.

“Well then, are you making friends again Gavin?” She asks, and the way she smiles when she turns to her son is all innocent curiosity. Ryan feels his breathing slow, caution winning out over panic.

Gavin looks absolutely delighted that Griffon has suggested Ryan is a friend. He presses into an explanation of him as quickly as he can.

“This is Ryan- He arrived two nights past and he’s staying at the inn until the caravan heads to port in two days.” He explains. He’s still got a hand around her wrist, the other wrapped around the leather strap of the quiver slung across his back. He’s all a child excited by his parent’s return- and doesn’t notice the tension.

“ _Ryan_.” Griffon states, corners of her mouth turning up. She speaks it like she’s tasting the name, testing it for spice. Her eyes turn back toward him, and he can only just barely make out the sharpness there. She knows him, and yet she hides that fact. “Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And the same from me.” Ryan responds- too quickly. He can see Gavin spot his hurrying, his brow beginning to furrow in confusion.

Griffon takes control of the situation before it can dissolve into chaos and questions.

“Gavin I left my horse around the front along with the trade goods, do you think you could-?” She asks.

She doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before Gavin is nodding expressively.

“Yes, I’ll take care of the horse and the cart-- I’ll get Kdin and Caleb on it too- We’ll unload everything.” Gavin says, smiling bright. “You’ll probably want to see Geoff, should I-?”

“Nah, let me surprise him.” Griffon says, pulling her arm out of his grip by swinging it gently back and forth until he releases his hold on her. “Is he sleeping off another impressive cider buzz?”

“Aren’t they all? The Smithy got them well and truly drunk.” Gavin says. He shares another laugh with Griffon, another quick hug, and then he darts off and disappears around the side of the inn- they way she’d first appeared and thrown Ryan’s morning into chaos.

Ryan doesn’t have but two heartbeats to try and fix his breathing before the retired guard has changed her demeanor from cheerfully welcoming to cautiously held at ease. She still wears a sword around her waist- he notes. She must keep in practice, it’s good to have a weapon on the roads. He wonders if she was doing trade, perhaps buying new stock-- He thinks it would have to be a fool who would threaten her on any road at any time of day or night, the way she looks.

Even Ryan is wary of her, at this time.

This is a defining moment. Who knows what lies have been spreading since his faithful steward sent him running South? Who knows what words are being spoken about the King while he is so far from home? It’s enough to make any man panic.

Griffon’s next words are quiet- enough that the wind could whisk them away into nothingness. She’s double-checking herself.

“Your Grace?” She asks, the tip of her tongue slipping against her teeth to cut off the phrase as quickly as possible.

Ryan, for all his power and nobility, only gives the smallest of nods.

“Oh by the Gods, why would you be here-” Griffon starts, accepting his answer immediately. She must know, as soon as he has agreed to his title, that he is not in any way or shape within the realms of his own regality at the moment. There is no ostentatious carriage, no banners, no guards. No traveling court to accompany a King, and no reason for a King to be so far from his castle at the beginning of the Winter season.

Ryan’s eyes flicker to the corner of the inn’s yard and then back, farther away- the hay bale target still full of Gavin’s arrows. The silent communication is natural, old-hat, Griffon takes to it as well as he does. He wants privacy- as far away from the inn as they can reach.

With a nod from Griffon in agreement they’re walking, Ryan’s head tipped downward to speak toward her and keep his voice out of the wind.

 “I am in hiding, Griffon- Please you must keep this well and silent.” He says, some of his Northern tone leaking into the words. “I am not safe to be known.”

Griffon can keep a straight face as no one else can, to someone walking by it might be a customer commenting on some slight the inn had done to him.

“How are you unsafe? Where are your guards- your men?” Griffon asks. “Your Grace-”

“Please, just Ryan,” He begs. “I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

“Ryan.” Griffon says, and the way she says it now is all familiarity compared to the way it was spoken earlier. She even chances half a smile. “I have not called you that in a long while.”

“Since before you were Griffon Ramsey-” Ryan comments dryly.

“And before _you_ were King James.” Griffon compares.

It _has_ been that long. He was Prince James when they last spoke, and even then he went by Ryan as it was less formal and held him to less obligation. Griffon was... Well, perchance he didn’t actually know her old name. She has changed it with marriage, though- that is for sure.

They stop walking as they reach the hay bale, and Griffon begins to pull arrows loose. She piles them in her hands as though preparing for an army. To another patron of the inn she might look like a parent cleaning up after her forgetful son.

“Ryan where are your guards?” Griffon asks, eyes flickering upwards. “Your sword, your crown?”

“I’d wager, in order; my guards remain at the castle- my sword in a ditch- and my crown no doubt rests upon the brow of my closests advisory.” Ryan says as his gaze goes sharp and cold- ice in the blue. “They turned on me.”

“All of them?” Griffon asks, breath catching in her throat.

He sees the horror turn to anger in her eyes once he agrees with a nod of his head.

“Every one- and yet none of them could stomach to try and make the final blow their own.” Ryan answers. He holds a hand to his injured side and Griffon’s eyes become as sharp as his.

“ _Who_ -”

“Dead.” Ryan says, cutting her off. “I’m hardly incapable. He came from behind or else he wouldn’t have even had this mark to leave.”

Griffon grinds her back teeth.

“And then they planned to send more than one man.” She guesses, and the look in Ryan’s eyes confirms it. “You fled.”

“I had little choice, injured and alone. Only my steward remained my man. He had me on a horse and out the gates before the sun rose and then I spent a day on horseback.” Ryan explains. He remembers the sting of steel and Kerry’s worry and the horse whose bouncing nearly drove him to falling from the saddle and lying in a ditch.

“And your steward didn’t come with you.” Griffon says. She sounds suspicious.

Ryan will have none of that.

“Kerrian made to run them off my scent and find his own allies to secure the castle- I will hear not a word against him. I owe him my life, as of now.” Ryan says, voice low. “I can only hope _he_ survived so I can return his favor.”

“It is no favor.” Griffon says, looking at the arrows in her hands. Her eyes are narrowed. “It is a _duty_.”

Ryan thinks about all the men who have turned on their ‘duty’ and are now his enemies- capable of defaming him and turning his whole kingdom against him. He thinks of the few loyalists he has and how they could be in so much danger because of him.

He remembers that now Griffon has a family- A grown boy and a husband to protect. He is not her duty, not anymore.

“One that you no longer share-” Ryan reminds her, then steps back a little surprised when she turns to glare at him.

“One I will _always_ share.” She says. “This household is loyal to the Kingship and it _will_ protect you- indefinitely.”

Relief floods him, warming his fingertips and his chest with the promise. Even if he will not beg it of her, he will take what is given. He lowers his head in thanks.

“Thank you, Griffon.” He says to the ground.

“I’ll have no more of that.” Griffon says, pulling the last arrow from the hay bale and stacking it into her arms. She holds the bundle there like a child. He’s reminded of her cradling her helmet the same way, the day she left the service and her old life behind. It’s a comforting memory.

“I can keep your secret from Geoff and Gavin.” She continues, beginning to walk again. Ryan follows her, keeping the pace as she picks up her steps. “But only so far-- What have you told them?”

“Nothing.” Ryan admits. “I thought it better to be a shadow than a falsity- and I had no idea this was your establishment.”

Griffon hums, then nods. “It _was_ better to be a shadow- But Gavin saw that I know you, observant as he is. He’s too curious to accept no answer.”

“He _does_ seem that way.” Ryan admits, the corner of his mouth turning upwards at the thought.

Griffon hums again, watching him.

Ryan feels a bit judged.

“I think it best if we misinterpret the past.” Griffon says. She glosses over the odd hum she’d given after Ryan’s comment about Gavin as though it never happened. “They know my history but not yours-- A guard, perhaps? Not a deserter- I’d never harbor a deserter and they know it- but a man who’s angered a noble house?”

Ryan has to chuckle.

“Well I have done _that_.” He admits, thinking on the crowd of advisers and noblemen who are against him. “I can accept that.”

“Good. That’s settled then.” Griffon says.

They’ve reached the wall of the inn again, having taken a round of the yard and done nothing more than speak and collect Gavin’s arrows. Around the front Ryan can see Gavin sitting on top of a horseless cart- ordering Kdin and Caleb about as they stack barrels and boxes from it onto the path up to the entranceway.

“I’ll take my leave of you.” Ryan offers, dipping his head some to Griffon as he spots Geoff in the entranceway shouting at Gavin, then turning to smile blindingly at his wife. He’ll leave no blemish more on their reunion.

“Thank you, Griffon.” He says again, stepping away.

She only smiles after him, and then accepts her husband's embrace and a kiss on the lips as the runaway King slinks into the shadows of the inn, Gavin’s curious gaze following him from the top of the cart. He turns to his mother shortly after, as if wondering just what her earlier conversation entailed.

* * *

Gavin is good at biding his time.

He waits until a sleepy Geoff has greeted his wife with lazy kisses and then absconded back into the relative warm and quiet of the inn to nurse his hangover. He waits until Kdin and Caleb have started rolling barrels carefully into the cellar through the ramp and door at the side of the inn, complaining over each other loudly enough to drown him out. He lets his mother gather all of her personal items from her travels in her bags and begin to go through them, moving through paper-and-string-wrapped packages which must be presents for people (including himself, he hopes).

 _Then_ he confronts Griffon for the answers to his questions.

Of course, he learned this strategy _from_ her, he should have been expecting her to be ready for him.

Gavin moves himself across the cart to look down at Griffon where she kneels on the ground, opening his mouth to let out his first question, when she smiles up at him and answers him three questions ahead, wasting no time.

“Yes Gavin, I do know Ryan.” She admits, close to rolling her eyes.

Gavin’s a bit dumbstruck by how easy it is to get the information. He ends up stuttering.

“B-But _how_?” He asks, putting his hands on the side of the cart and leaning over it to look at her and (not so secretly) into her bags.

Griffon closes the top of one burlap sack and puts her hand up to bop Gavin in the forehead, pushing him away from the bag of gifts.

“No sneaking, Gavin. These are for Servant’s Day-- _no peeking_.” She says, grinning. Then she answers his question. “He’s an old face from the Guard; we used to share the same rounds once upon a time.”

“I bloody knew he was a guard.” Gavin mutters, lowering his head so that his chin rests on his hands on the side of the cart. “He stands like you- all straight and tall.”

“Do I now?” Griffon wonders aloud, giving in to Gavin’s ramblings as she has every day of her life since the moment she rescued a little thirteen year-old boy from the edge of the Freelands on a trade. The only time he’d ever been quiet was that first journey back to the inn-- he’d never shut up since.

“And then there was the boots. See, I _knew_ it.” He keeps muttering, tapping his fingers on the cart and Griffon turns back to her bags. “Lindsay’s going to owe me a pence- _Ice harvester_. Who’d think him an _ice harvester_?”

Griffon raises an eyebrow, as if wondering why it would matter to Gavin if Ryan were an ice harvester.

“And Ray with his bloody _Highwayman_ nonsense- As if Ryan looks anything like a brute.” Gavin continues muttering. Griffon tips her head to the side again, a curious bird.

She knows this tone of voice, and the way Gavin taps his fingers like a woodpecker in a tree sending out signals. He’s absolutely focused not on the story behind Ryan, as he would be with most guests he bets his friends about-- he’s focused on Ryan himself.

He’s done this before, once or twice. That woman in bright colors traveling with the dancers from the island kingdom-- that merchant from the Freelands who offered him jewelry (a pair of earrings he still has in his room)-- a woman from the west, her hair jet black and her eyes bright green. He’d obsessed over each of them in turn, and made sure that he’d gotten his fill of them before they each ultimately took the caravan away from the inn and sailed away at the port.

Griffon wants to shake her head at the audacity of it. Her son has a crush on the King-- not that he knows exactly who he is; or why that’s so absurd.

“But you have to tell me _why_ he’s running, Griffon.” Gavin says, picking his head up and leaning over the cart again. “Come on, Michael and Lindsay both had guesses on him being a guard as well, but we all differed as to _why_ he’d up and run off.”

Griffon remembers Ryan’s hand on his waist- obviously an injury severe enough to keep him from braving the woods alone for Port. She remembers his low tones and the true worry in his eyes as he explained that his castle is turned against him-- his advisers will murder him and anyone who supports him.

She thinks of her son near that situation and realizes, a bit late, why Ryan offered her so many chances to say that protecting the King was no longer her duty.

“ _Griffon_ -” Gavin whines.

“What makes you think that I know why he’s here?” Griffon asks, starting to shuffle through her bag.

Gavin huffs, a bit insulted.

“You spoke to him at _length_ \- and since he’s an old guard you _recognized_ you’d hardly let him be if he was a deserter. I still remember what you did to the last bloke who took off from his post without a reason and tried to hide out here.” Gavin explains, leaning farther over the cart- making it rock a little. “So is he a deserter?”

She thinks of an injured king, fleeing into the night.

“Not in that sense.” She admits.

“So he _is_ in trouble.” Gavin presses, rocking again.

Griffon purses her lips and looks up to him, narrowing her eyes. Gavin bats his eyelashes affectionately and grins, putting on his ‘give me what I want _I’m adorable_ ’ face.

She caves, to a point.

“He’s upset some rather important people who would like nothing more than to see him gone-” She says, and seeing Gavin perk up she continues, putting emphasis into her words. “ _Permanently_ , Gavin. They’d like to see him dead.”

She sees Gavin go a bit still, sees him begin to look sad. It’s the protectiveness in her that makes her continue, though she knows it will ruin his day and, by the smile she’d seen on Ryan’s face at the mere mention of her son earlier, perhaps the King’s as well. She thinks that by now he’s had a few days here with Gavin, and when Gavin is fond of someone he lets them know quickly and very un-subtly.

From what she remembers of the King in his younger days- It would not take much to let himself cave to Gavin’s whims. He always had a weakness for lithe and bright admirers; and especially those with emerald eyes.

“And that courtesy extends to anyone found near him, harboring or helping him.” Griffon says. Her son slows yet a bit more, hand settling on the edge of the cart.

That will be the end of that, she thinks. Gavin has the self-preservation instincts of a very flighty bird-- he’ll drop Ryan like a hotcake and she won’t have to worry about him getting too involved with this.

Gavin goes fully still and blinks, then he surprises her.

He gets _worried_.

“But we’re not going to toss him out, are we?” He asks, and Griffon’s a bit thrown. She’d expected him to perhaps rethink his crush, not zero in more on protecting him. “Mum-” He resorts to the title, not her name. “-We can’t let him go off on his own, the Caravan’s the only safe way to port-”

She can see Gavin grasping at the side of the cart, moving toward her a little. It nearly sets it off balance again; it’s wobbly when not attached to a horse.

“He’s _staying_ , Gavin.” She insists, raising her hands as if to push him back into the cart and calm him down. “I’m not leaving him to suffer for something he’s done to offend the nobility. He’s a friend.”

After a brief pause the action does seem to calm Gavin. He pushes himself back into the cart and balances it, wiggling into place.

“Oh good.” Gavin says, settling down some. He swallows, staring at the inn a moment and then back to Griffon. “So we’re going to keep him safe.”

“Yes.” Griffon admits. “We are.”

Her son is sitting above her like an archer in his nest- preparing for war. His quiver is at his side in the cart- filled with the arrows she’d plucked from the hay bale for him while she spoke to Ryan. His bow is on his shoulder, string across his chest. She’s never seen him look so serious, though Geoff has joked with her before that with all the lessons she likes to give him he’d someday turn into a little guard himself.

“Good.” He says again, tapping on his knee. “We’ll keep him safe.”

Perhaps now she knows why Ryan was so thankful to know he had her help in this trying time. Looking up at Gavin, she sees the straight back and high head of a guard, ready to protect his charge.

Perhaps she should have given him something besides a bow on his sixteenth name day.

Or, perhaps there’s just an inherent loyalty to King James Ryan Haywood in anyone who chooses the name Ramsey.

* * *

Ryan finds that evening that the presence of Griffon Ramsey does very little to change the inn; it moves from controlled chaos to relatively the same- only now there seems to be twice as much business. The Smithy celebrations of the day before are not yet done, which could attribute to the rise in patronage. There are plenty of people ordering meals- stew cooked in the great large cauldron that Jack delivered in his parade and bread baked fresh that afternoon and more cider- which Ryan politely declines in favor of easy ale.

He finds himself in the presence of the same group as the night before while the traveling players set up their show again. There’s no large song of scripture nor a dance going on, but Joel and Adam seem to be happily shouting at each other from opposite ends of the room at one moment and then the next are offering to attempt to see what it would be like to have Joel balance on Adam’s shoulders as both of them try to steer a horse. Geoff puts a stop to that idea before they can murder some poor animal from the stables- which Ryan is grateful for.

Michael and Lindsay have just finished telling Griffon the story of their wolf hunt since she missed the first fifteen tellings while away on her trip, and then- smiling- she moves along to greet some patrons just now entering the inn. Ray settles into her place instead, dropping copper coins into the till just behind the counter.

“So the rumors tonight-” He starts by saying, eyes bright behind his glasses. Everyone, including Ryan, leans toward him. The urge to gossip in such an establishment is strong, and with Gavin leaning over the counter next to Ray, Ryan’s leaning forward brings them very close. “Are that the baker poisoned his last batch of bread to make the Smithy sick-”

Jack laughs, hale and healthy with his cider mug in front of him. A waste of a rumor, that. You only need look at him to know he’s not poisoned.

“That there will be a new guard outpost placed right at the cusp of the Great Wood so that every Caravan will have to pay tolls-” Ray continues.

Michael grumbles and Lindsay snickers- he must think it a truth and she a falsity.

“And that something has happened at the King’s Castle, though no one can quite decide what.” Ray finishes. This is greeted by several interested ‘ooh?’s and a glance from Gavin toward Griffon in the crowd- which flickers to Ryan for a short moment.

Ryan covers his sudden cold fear by taking a sip of his ale.

“So what are they saying, then?” Jack asks, leaning forward in his seat toward Ray. “What are their ideas?”

Ray looks excited to have the attention, hopping up onto the bar to take a seat even as Gavin ‘tsk’s behind his teeth. Ryan’s not sure he wants to hear these things- these rumors are suggestions that have no doubt been fed to the kingdom by his nobility. They are lies- they must be. There’s no sense in them telling the truth.

“The three travelers from the North, in the corner,” Ray says. “Are all in agreement on which story they think is true-”

“Then tell us _that_ one.” Gavin insists. “Don’t be a minge-”

Ray narrows his eyes.

“I’m working on it.” He says, clearing his throat. “Shut up for a minute--. _So_ , there’s word from the castle that the King hasn’t been seen in near a week.”

The group hums in excitement, the story is _already_ interesting. Ryan forces himself to hum with them, even as Griffon and Geoff approach around the back of the bar and listen in as well. He catches Griffon’s eye- though he knows she can’t save him from this.

“A whole week, no sight of him- nor his right hand. The nobility are on edge, they won’t speak of it, but there are also bands of roaming guards-” Ray continues, tapping his fingers on the bar top.

Griffon goes still, listening.

“-Being sent out onto the roads. They think that the King isn’t in the castle at all!”

“Why the fuck would he leave the castle?” Michael asks, setting down his mug. Their favorite game of making up stories brought about once again. “I wouldn’t- living a life of luxury.”

“Is there some secret tryst?” Lindsay asks, grinning.

“Maybe plans for a _war_.” Gavin mutters, looking grim.

Ray ignores all these suggestions, glancing to the travelers in the corner and then back to the group in front of him. His next words are whispered- treason, if they fell to the wrong ears. He must not have realized Griffon has arrived behind him again.

“They say he’s gone _mad_.”

Ryan feels his stomach flip, sickened by the very thought.

Griffon _hisses_.

Startled by the sound of the Inn’s patroness absolutely livid behind him, Ray tumbles from his place sitting on the bar-top and falls to the floor behind it. He exclaims a few choice words and then falls silent at the look he’s getting, almost cowering behind Gavin’s legs while Griffon stares him down.

“I will have no talk like that here-” She says, voice solid and severe. “None. Any word spoken against the King is spoken against his kingdom and his loyal men and I don’t quite think I suit the word ‘mad’, do I?”

Well, that’s debatable at the present moment, but Ray shakes his head anyway to make sure Griffon knows he won’t say as such again. The entire grouping around Ryan looks like chided little children, heads low and lips bitten.

Griffon catches Ryan’s eyes and he lowers his own gaze, shaking his head slightly. She breathes a little easier at the movement, crossing her arms over her chest and then kicking at Ray’s foot to get him up and working again. He dashes off into the crowd with his empty basket for mugs and bowls, lucky to be alive.

The rest of the group quiets themselves and then begins mumbling about other things, careful glances thrown at Griffon every few minutes, but it allows Gavin the time to lean against the bar again and focus his attentions on Ryan. For his own part, Ryan tries to forget the hollow feeling in his gut at the audacity of his nobility to name him ‘mad’.

If enough people believe that, and he is captured, there will be no credibility to him and then his throne will be given to the next most powerful man of his court. Ryan has no heir, no more family to speak of. If he is a Mad King, he is doomed.

“Well you look distracted.” Gavin says.

Ryan turns his head toward him and tries to focus on green eyes and a pleasant smile. Anything to help him forget the trouble he’s in. Perhaps that offer is still open, if he hasn’t made an entire fool of himself yet. He’s had nothing but plain ale and water today to drink- he can’t be caught for drunk.

“I am.” He admits, unable to help a glance at Griffon, who has moved to fill mugs at the end of the bar. “Unhealthy rumors.”

“She told me you were a guard.” Gavin says.

The King turns his eyes up to meet Gavin’s again, nodding. He doesn’t like to lie, so he adds “I’ve worked among them, yes.”

Gavin seems to take that as answer enough, and he smiles. Some great victory in his mind, to know this thing exactly. Proud of himself and his discovery.

“So the king’s _not_ mad, then-” Gavin says, nodding to himself. Ryan raises an eyebrow at the turn of phrase, to make him continue.

“I just mean-” Gavin continues. “-If the both of you don’t think it’s possible, I’d believe it. _You_ don’t think the king is mad, do you?”

Ryan lets out a breath of air, thinking back on years of service to his Kingdom. Nights of no sleep and insomnia, stress and seclusion taking their tolls on him. Ill, perhaps, in some people’s minds. Surely enough to spin the tale. But Madness?

Ryan shakes his head.

“No-” He says. “I don’t think the King is mad.”

“Good.” Gavin says, nodding. “That’d be awful, wouldn’t it?”

Ryan lets the chatter of the room and Gavin’s talking wash over him, focusing enough to give an answer to the younger man when he asks a question or to hum or shake his head in agreement. More talk of the inn, of the people inside of it-

“-And Griffon’s going to have my head for not practicing much while she was gone.” Gavin mutters, sipping from his own mug. “I’ll need to find some way to distract her in the morning...”

Ryan can’t be imagining the look he’s getting, but he waits for Gavin to make his point.

“ _You_ fight with a sword-” The freeman says, quiet.

“I _can_ fight with a sword.” Ryan corrects, thinking about how he’d much rather a mace in a real fight. “If my side isn’t split in half for the rest of my life I might even remain good at it.”

“Distract her for me.” Gavin begs, pouting as he leans over the bar. “Ask her to fight- she hasn’t had a decent fight in ages and if she’s fighting you she can’t box my ears for not keeping up with my legwork. Ryan c’mon, for me?”

Another look at green, sparkling eyes and a grown man pouting is going to ruin Ryan’s determination to stay out of sight the next day.

“I’m not even sure my side will hold up, if I fight.” Ryan says, leaning back on his stool.

Gavin grins.

“Then let’s put your side to the test.” He says, voice low. “There are other ways to test your stitching before tomorrow morning, you know.”

Ryan has a feeling that finding out how well his stitching can hold up to Gavin will be well worth a sore side and a fight the next morning. He’s more than ready to accept the offer- to make sure it won’t slip through his fingers again.

“Gavin-” Griffon calls. Both men turn to look at her, however. Ryan seems curious, Gavin looks absolutely betrayed.

Griffon looks worried- remembering her son; a little archer in his nest. Far too involved in this whole business for her liking.

“I’ve a need of you.” Griffon says, staring at Gavin. “Geoff and I are going to turn in. I need you to watch the late round tonight.”

Gavin sputters, looking for a way out of things, but Ryan can immediately tell he won’t refuse her. Griffon has just come home today, she has a hand around her husband’s arm and she looks more than ready to spend a night in her own bed after a week or more of travel. ****

Gavin ducks his head and nods to his mother, and Ryan gives the other man a small smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He offers, setting down his empty mug and thinking on his own bed. He tries not to see the disappointment in Gavin’s eyes as he stands up. He sighs, biting his lower lip.

“After all, I’ll have a fight to be up for, won’t I?” Ryan asks, hoping to see Gavin smile.

The younger man looks up and beams at him, eyes bright again.

“Looking forward to it.” Gavin says, rocking back on his heels. “Goodnight then, Ryan.”

“And to you, Gavin.”

* * *

Sometimes, Gavin is very glad he has a good face for begging. This is definitely one of those times.

He pulls his cloak tighter around himself and keeps his legs tucked in under the wool, watching Griffon and Ryan laugh as she attempts to assure him she’s not going to chop his arm off. The archer remains seated on top of his hay bale as the two swordsmen bicker- and it is no longer hard to imagine that they knew each other once upon a time. He can see the familiarity in the way Griffon offers Ryan the spare practice sword, in how she grins at him and snatches it back a second before he can wrap his fingers around it.

Familiarity, too, in the way Ryan laughs at the trick and leans forward to grab at the sword again, but new- perhaps- the way he’s able to twist at the last second the snatch the handle from Griffon. She looks surprised but delighted, muttering about how she ‘didn’t teach him that’.

Then, Gavin supposes, Griffon must have taught Ryan- at least some. In her six years of work as a guard she must have taught many. Even now, after all this time, she teaches- Gavin has learned at her hand since he was thirteen. Funny, to think how time passes and leads people to this kind of life. He was merely a child on his own on the edge of the Freelands when a caravan passed by- a woman tall and strong standing as she directed her horse and cart through winding roads with the rest of the journeymen. He used to think it was folly that she had taken an interest in the pale lanky thing he was as he ran about with other Freeland children to follow the caravan around. Curious things they always were, and he is curious still.

Leaving with Griffon when she offered him pay to have him help keep watch over the caravan with her at night had been the best decision of his life. He intended to go home afterward, to make his way with the next caravan and return to Dan and his other friends; but Griffon put it off more and more until finally when the time came to make the caravan back to pick up more barrels and casks of hard whiskey from his old home, Gavin decided he would rather remain with Geoff to help him watch the inn.

And Griffon had smiled like she’d won, setting off on her own and telling her boys that she’d return in two weeks time, but Gavin was more than happy with the results too. Family means very little in the Freelands, but in Haywood’s kingdom it meant quite a lot. Being a Ramsey means a lot. Being here means a lot.

It means being able to watch Griffon beat the sword from Ryan’s hand for the third time in a hour, even though he’s lasted longer against her than Gavin does from the first try. It means watching Ryan grow ever bolder and more sure of his movements, watching him untuck his arm from his injured side and begin to give snide comments right back to Griffon (and to Gavin, when he shouts them from his perch). It means watching Ryan- the first man he’s ever seen do so- knock the sword from Griffon’s hand and hold his own to her waist as though to give her a wound to match his own.

Every moment that Gavin watches Ryan he finds himself just a little more curious, a bit mesmerized. Surely Ryan was a fantastic guard, and he wonders who he could have angered. He seems so kind, if you are kind to him, and rather respectful. Maybe a bit high headed- perhaps he got on the wrong side of a noble who thought himself better than him. It seems like it could be the only answer, watching him succeed so thoroughly in pulling Griffon’s sword away again.

“I should like to see you with your mace again, if you’ve gotten so good at sword.” Griffon says, taking a step forward and scooping her blade off of the ground.

“That’s always been my best.” Ryan replies. He’s flushed from the fight and looks eager. He’s a very active person, glad to be moving even if his side protests the action. “You wouldn’t last a minute.” He suggests.

“Not even that?” Griffon asks, grinning.

“Not even that.” Ryan promises.

Griffon gives a whistle and then puts her hands on her hips. She can see Ryan breathing heavy despite his victories. “Alright then. Perhaps I’ll just find an easier target then. _Gavin_ -”

The man on the hay bale groans. The innkeeper smiles and crooks a finger at him while Ryan laughs, passing over the sword and switching places with Gavin so that the fight can go on.

Gavin is not better with a sword than a bow, in fact he seems almost clumsy with a blade. He might be good with a spear, Ryan thinks. Or a halberd-- something long and meant for distance. Gavin sees things better when he’s not so close and panicked. He’s not meant for combat at such a short distance. Griffon throws him down to the ground several times, not bothering to be careful of him as she was with Ryan. When Gavin points this out she’s happy to provide the fact that Ryan is held together with string, and Gavin has the good graces of being whole and healthy.

“Not if you keep up with that.” Gavin mumbles in response, still laying on the ground after the sixth upset. Griffon takes that as a cue to merely pick up both swords to put them away. She’s been at practice with them for several hours now, she can take her leave of it. “I’ll be made of bruises. You’ll have to find another son.”

“Well it wasn’t so hard to get the first one, now was it?” Griffon asks; the innkeeper smiles sweetly at the question.

Gavin merely huffs and lays his head back onto the Earth, letting himself rest.

* * *

As it’s the day before the caravan is meant to leave the inn has filled with people by the late afternoon. It’s fantastic for business; Geoff and Griffon have both hearths blazing hot with a pot of stew and roasting meat- There’s bread being passed over the counter as soon as it’s cut. The till is always clinking, coppers and silvers exchanging hands. It’s boisterous and loud with every room filled including the common room upstairs, and some people even intend to escape the cold by bunking down in the stable outside with the horses- others still will sleep in their carts and covered wagons.

Ray looks all but run dead, but Ryan has learned in his few days here that he always looks tired. Caleb is celebrating his new found freedom from his bells by starting a game of cards, this time with his sleeves pulled up as if to prove there’s nowhere to hide cards. Joel, Adam, and Shannon are playing with puppets for the children in the corner, showing them how to pull the strings and make them dance.

Ryan sits at the counter with the group he’s come to know, chatting with Gavin, Michael, and Lindsay. The warriors will be heading off with the caravan in order to collect payment in the port for something they’re owed, so Ryan is glad to know he will have company through the forest on the two day journey.

Plenty of talk in the inn is about rumors, and it’s hard not to overhear talk of what they heard the night before. Something _is_ going on at the castle. There are groups of guards on the road and no one has seen the king. The rumor grows bolder with every telling, and while Griffon could easily tell Ray to shut his mouth, she can hardly tell an entire inn the very same- especially when she can’t be sure who is saying what exactly in the crowd.

Ryan chooses to ignore it in favor of sipping at his ale and discussing the roads with Michael, listening to him complain of the tendency of guards and soldiers to create little tolls without reason. It’s certainly something that needs fixing, and he wants to keep it in mind. It’s good to have it brought up to him, even if Michael doesn’t know the sort of effect his words will have.

Gavin is working the room as Geoff and Griffon are, though he does all of his talking from behind the counter as he pours the harder liquors from bottles and smaller casks. He tunes in to Ryan’s conversation from time to time, always answered with a smile and then, when he turns away, graced with a little whipping motion from Ray’s hand. He doesn’t have the decency to blush.

It’s in the middle of one of these moments, where Ray has his hand raised and his lips pursed and Gavin is rolling his eyes and Ryan has just turned away that the stomp of shoed horses and the voices of a group of people become apparent from outside over the sound of conversation inside. Loud, the sound of stomping heavy boots and then another group of sounds, eerie in such a crossroads town with the toll roads far away.

Chain and armor clinking, leather and steel scratching against itself.

Ryan freezes at the same moment Griffon and Gavin turn toward him, and their other companions turn toward him as subtly as they can at the notice, but Gavin is already waving his hand at Ryan to come behind the counter and Ryan wastes no time in walking as calmly as he can around to Gavin so that he doesn’t attract the notice of the crowd in the inn who have turned towards the door.

“Gavin, what are you doing?” Michael asks, eyes jumping from Ryan to Gavin and then to the doors as the hush begins to fall over the inn- the sound of armor and chain grows louder.

“Shut up.” Is the only answer Gavin gives him. He shoves Ryan’s arm to press him towards the corner of the counter and then pulls him down, sinking him against the inner lip of the counter and then pushing his head down too. He ends up covered by Gavin’s cloak, looking like a passed out drunk behind the counter when the doors come open.

The inn is fully silent as two guards pull open the doors of the inn, and another dressed more finely than the others steps inside. He stands tall and his arms are massive under his chain, but the hand of the lankier man at his side is enough to stop him in his tracks when they reach the counter. The thinner man is well dressed in no armor nor chain but wears a sword at his side all the same, and his eyes search the room as if looking for someone in particular.

It’s Geoff who steps out of the silent crowd and catches his eyes before bowing with a flourish.

“Lord Jose Jones, an honor.” He greets, and the whispers begin. At the counter, both Lindsay and Michael murmur “Of no relation.” and snicker, but the sound dies on their lips as Geoff remains bent. The lord has yet to allow him to rise.

He seems to be staring, waiting for something- but whatever it is passes and he gives a gesture and Geoff can finally rise up. “Ramsey.” He says, not a greeting. It’s almost a command by the word.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, My Lord?” Geoff asks. The crowd around him is rather still. Some of them recognize this man, or at the very least his title. The local noble- who owns the land all around this establishment and therefore many of it’s people. “I’m afraid the Smithy’s days are done, and while we happily expected you for the revels--”

“I didn’t come for any revels.” The Lord says, already sounding annoyed. The guard beside him moves at his gesture to pull a parchment free of the pouch at his side. “I come bringing an announcement of a bounty. Blaine.” Yet again, a name as a command.

The room quiets again at the call for a bounty- surely a high price tied to the head of someone on the bad side of the noble. It has happened once or twice before. Lindsay and Michael turn on their stools eagerly to hear it, and neither of them see Gavin step aside a few feet to further cover Ryan, hiding in rags.

Blaine lifts the parchment to read. Griffon steps forward to stand at Geoff’s side and take his arm in her grip.

“A bounty on the head of a man who hails from the north.” Blaine reads. A few heads turn toward the group of northmen in the corner, but he is not yet done reading. “Pale in complexion with broad shoulders. He stands tall; blonde haired and blue eyed.”

Hoods are discarded to reveal the trio of men, but the man with blue eyes has brown hair and the two who are blonde have eyes of brown and green- they are not the man the noble is searching for. Eyes wander the room, searching.

Michael and Lindsay have stiffened in their seats, and Gavin stares at them nervously.

“He may have money to spare which is stolen. You should heed not his word nor his action, but he is wanted alive by the nobility for crimes against the crown. He has no name, he will not give you his true name.” The whispers start again, louder very suddenly as Blaine contributes the final words- “A reward of one hundred gold pieces for his person. Alive only.”

Jose Jones has glanced about the room for the entire speech, watching peoples faces. He sees Michael and Lindsay, who have turned towards each other whispering. Before he can step towards them, however, Griffon tugs some on Geoff’s arm and they step in front of their Lord.

“A good cause then, for the crown?” Griffon asks, as if to clarify. Michael and Lindsay have turned to watch her, and Gavin has stepped a little forward as if to whisper to them In fact he is, quiet so that no one else will hear.

“Listen to what she says.” Gavin begs. “And know that she is loyal to the crown- and see what she does. You can figure it out from there, Michael-”

“For the crown.” Jones answers. “As stated, Mrs. Ramsey. You’re a loyalist. I’m sure you understand the implications. This man _must_ be caught. He is a danger to the kingdom and the crown.”

Griffon’s usually friendly eyes are cold, and she hugs her husband’s arm.

“I am, I am a loyalist.” She says, and then: “There are no men here by that description, My Lord. I am very sure. This is my establishment and every room and our stable is full- and no man like that has been seen here.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but Lindsay puts a hand on his arm and silently shakes her head. When Jones’ eyes search around the inn again they don’t stop on either warrior, as they both look rather disinterested.

“No one has seen him?” The Lord asks once more, eyes on Griffon but voice loud for the inn at large.

Geoff answers with a shrug of his shoulders.

“We will keep our eyes open, of course.” He says.

Jones frowns, but doesn’t broach the subject any further. He nods his head towards the door and the guards behind him begin to file out; Blaine rolls up his parchment and then passes a smaller scrap over to Griffon’s hand as Lord Jose Jones steps towards the door and outside.

“For the search.” Blaine says, and he smiles very honestly at Griffon and then turns for the doors. They swing shut behind him when the other guards let them close, and the sound within the inn picks up a decibel as the sound of horses becomes apparent outside. Geoff and Griffon do not move until the sound of horses is faded into the distance, and Griffon’s first action is to take the parchment in her hand and crumple it before tossing it to the flames of the hearth.

Michael and Lindsay turn back to the counter as the innkeepers approach, and very gingerly Ryan lifts the hood of Gavin’s cloak off of his head to look up. Blonde haired and blue eyed and very Northern, his gaze flickers back and forth between the warriors until Lindsay speaks.

“Well then.” She says, at Griffon’s approach. “A shame there’s not a way to collect the bounty. I don’t think the man they’re searching for exists.”

Ryan breathes out a shaky breath and thumps his head back against the counter.

“Correct, that man doesn’t exist.” Griffon says, looking at Lindsay and Michael. “I don’t harbor men who are a threat to the crown, after all.”

“No.” Michael says, finally. “No, you don’t.”

And that seems to be that.

Ryan remains behind the counter at Gavin’s prompting, a good idea with the events that just took place so fresh in the crowd’s head. Even if they approach the counter, though, none of them look twice at Ryan. Either Gavin stands in front of him while he serves their drinks or Lindsay and Michael make a point of being as rude as Warriors tend to be. Their trio working to block out Ryan keeps him safe for now- and by morning no one will remember the description on the bounty and Ryan will be on his way to port anyway.

He’ll have both Michael and Lindsay to keep him safe it seems, and that’s an even greater gift. He wonders if they even believe he hasn’t done anything wrong or if they’re just too loyal to Griffon to defy her or too fond of Gavin to upset him. Either way he’s grateful. Very grateful.

When the night has calmed down and the crowd has thinned some, Gavin spares a look for Griffon and she nods him towards the stairs. She takes over pouring whiskey for a few men without question or comment as Gavin helps Ryan to his feet with the cloak still over his hair. Anyone at the counter is either too drunk to care or already knows he was there.

There’s a wave for the two as they go, but Ryan and Gavin don’t stop once they’ve passed from behind the counter until they’re at the top of the first flight of steps and walking into the hall of the second floor. There, Gavin pauses as if to wonder where he’s going, and when Ryan waits for him as well Gavin takes his hand and draws him towards the door with a horseshoe. Ryan doesn’t resist.

Inside of Gavin’s room Ryan finds that it is no bigger than his own rented space, but far more like a home. There’s a rug in the middle of the floor and a quilt spread along the top of the bed. Holy in the windowsill, a real hand mirror sitting on a wooden dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed. The quiver and bow are sat in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall.

Gavin lets Ryan’s hand fall and shuts the door behind him, and the last sounds of the room downstairs are blocked out by the thick wooden planks. Ryan’s left wandering in the center of the room, pulling off Gavin’s cloak. He folds it over his arm and then holds it out, offering it up. When Gavin approached to take it he doesn’t step back away the way he came.

Ryan’s mind goes a little blank at the proximity and the privacy, so he says the only thing he can think of.

“Why a horseshoe?”

Gavin blinks in surprise, turning his head just a little. “What?”

“Why the horseshoe over your door?” Ryan clarifies. He holds off the embarrassment of asking pretty well. “What’s the point of that?”

“Well it’s good luck, in’it?” Gavin asks, sounding like he’d like to call Ryan an idiot.

“Why would it be good luck?” Ryan asks, still confused by how sure Gavin is of that. “It’s a piece of iron.”

“It’s a lucky piece of Iron.” Gavin insists. “I found it on my way here from the Freelands. Everyone knows if you find a horseshoe it’s lucky. You put it on your door to hold all the luck.”

Ryan snorts, distracted by the very idea, now. “It’s obviously not lucky if it fell off the horse.”

“It is too.”

“I highly doubt it.” Ryan says, plopping down onto the edge of the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice that he has, already too comfortable with the conversation to pay attention to what he’s doing. “Superstition.”

Riled up, Gavin pouts and crosses his arms, but he’s looking at Ryan and to the bed he’s sitting on and realizing just where he’s got him. He gets a little warmer at the thought.

“Do I get to ask a question?” He asks, quietly.

Ryan grins at him. “You just did-” And then seeing the look he gets for that he smiles quietly. “- but yes, ask your question.”

Gavin hesitates for just a second.

“They were after you, today?” He asks, looking at Ryan. The other man stiffens, but he nods.

“Yes. I definitely think they were.” Ryan admits, turning his eyes down.

Gavin nods too, hands on his arms so that they’re crossed against his chest. What Blaine had accused the man in the notice of crosses his mind. A danger to the crown. Would Ryan have lied to Griffon? Surely not...

“They aren’t telling the truth, are they?”

“No.” Ryan says. “I am not a danger to the crown, Gavin.”

He doesn’t think he is, anyway. He _is_ the crown, after all. He’s the King. The only danger to him right now are the men who want him ‘alive’ knowing full well he’ll fight anyone trying to capture him and probably die in the process. A good plan. They’ll suffer for it.

Gavin shifts a little. “Then what is it? What did you do? Did... Did you abandon your post?”

Ryan looks away, to the window.

“I abandoned something very important.” He admits. “But not of my own choice. I assure you.”

There’s a moments silence, and it ends with Gavin settling down onto the edge of the bed next to him, bouncing a little on the hay filled mattress. “Okay.” He says, nodding his head. “I believe you.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, smiling a little.

“Yeah.” Gavin says. “I think it’s kind of lucky, anyway-- even if it’s awful.”

“And how’s that?” Ryan asks. “What makes it lucky?”

Gavin glances to the door and then bites his lip, looking back at Ryan with a cheeky expression. “Well you got here, didn’t you?”

“Does that make me lucky?” Ryan wonders out loud. Gavin leans against him a little and he thinks he knows the answer before the younger man even suggests it.

“Yeah. I think that makes you pretty lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Many thanks to those of you who left such inspiring comments on the last chapter, it really helped me in completing this one even after it seemed impossible (losing the chapter to not saving and the power going out twice can really wreak havoc on your work ethic.) And my apologies; as I'm not very good at writing smut I haven't included Ryan and Gavin's /activities/ from the King's last night at the inn, but I'm sure you all can assume as well as I can what occurred. If you'd like, you can even write it yourselves. I'd enjoy seeing it. I'm beginning work on the next chapter very soon and I hope that you continue enjoying the story.
> 
> -James (iwatchedyoufall.tumblr.com)


	4. A Spill from an Upturned Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a heavy heart Ryan prepares to take the Caravan to Port to continue his journey, Gavin is uneasy, nothing goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the believers, for the commenters, for the people who kept reading- You’ve done your waiting, two years of it.
> 
> Here’s chapter four.

The inn yard is bustling, a cacophony of men and women shouting out front to sort out their belongings and group the carts, horses, donkeys and one  _ very  _ angry rooster into a semblance of a Caravan. It’s so large an amount of people they wouldn’t all fit on the first floor of the inn comfortably, even standing, though quite a few of them slept there last night. Caravan weeks must make a large profit for the inn and for the town; even more people arrived throughout the night seeking the safety of traveling in a large, armed group to the port. There are merchant men and women, young children, and well-dressed men in leather armor who run the caravan all mixed together and working side-by-side. 

Ryan watches the chaos fondly, thinking of how feast days and parties can look in the castle. They seem just like this most of the time, a bustling of guards and servants and noblemen all pressed together trying to create an experience to remember. The hidden king recalls the parties with the same underlying anxiety he feels here and now- in the masquerades, though, there is not a price of a hundred gold on his head for whoever discovers the king first.

Disguised as he is in a thick, dark green cloak he’s borrowed from Gavin, Ryan looks the part of a traveler he’s chosen to play on the long trek in the Caravan. He sits on his own horse between Michael and Lindsay’s, not quite so decorated as them but armed all the same with one of Griffon’s swords and emboldened by a string of miscellaneous teeth around his neck. The gifts help him blend in with the warriors that have chosen to accompany him all the way to Port; the necklace was a gift from Michael when he appeared from his own room this morning with Lindsay and finally paid his dues for the room to the innkeeper.

Ryan had paid as well, pressing two more glittering gold coins into Geoff’s hand and making good on his promise the night he’d stumbled into the Ramsey inn dazed and injured. He’d said he’d make it worth the innkeeper’s while to keep him under his roof- and tripling the price he’d already paid for the room seemed only fair. There would be more to offer but Ryan needs to keep his money to get him to his destination safely. When he reclaims his throne there will be ample reward for the innkeeper and especially for his wife, who kept him safe despite knowing the full extent of the danger her family was in for doing so.

There will be ample reward, too, for the man who gifted Ryan this warm, green cloak. A look back towards the inn doesn’t reveal the giver; Gavin’s absence is noted where he cannot be seen between his mother and father near the doors of the inn, toward the back of the Caravan. Griffon is bartering by the cellar doors to the side of the entrance, selling off casks to travel on the caravan with the merchants while Geoff sells various breads and fruits for easy snacking on the start of the journey. Both of them seem focused on their tasks and on the people around them, and Ryan remains focused on them until he’s spoken to.

“Staring like that is going to get you hurt,” Lindsay chastises, coming up beside Ryan with a rattling of wolf’s teeth from around her throat. “People notice people who stare.”

“And I’d like to not regret deciding to help you,” Michael adds, from the other side of Lindsay’s horse; Ryan can just barely see his curly hair over the warrior’s lap where Michael’s tightening a saddlebag. “Griffon made it seem important, but I don’t need to die this early in life. Especially not for a guard.”

Ryan laughs a bit despite the bite to Michael’s words, growing used to the heat that crackles under each of the warrior’s words. He couldn’t have picked a better set of traveling companions if he’d chosen them himself; Griffon knows him all too well. With Michael and Lindsay at his side Ryan is sure he’ll be to the port before he knows it, safe and relatively unnoticed the whole way through the woods. 

“I’ll try my best not to get you killed,” Ryan promises, trying to pass it off as a joke. Lindsay laughs along.

“Nothing you could cause would be worse than what we’ve set in motion ourselves the past few years,” She says.

Ryan raises an eyebrow, and Michael taps on Lindsay’s thigh in a way that might feel placating if he didn’t seem entirely serious about the motion. His grin is visible just under the arch of the Lindsay’s horse’s raised neck.

“That bear had it coming, though.” He says.

The warriors laugh and Ryan takes another long look at the inn that’s sheltered him for the past few days of his exile; it watches over the Caravan with many glazed eyes, all dark in the pale blue daylight of morning. He wonders when he’ll see it again, if he’ll see it again... He knows there’s a chance he might not return, and a greater chance he might not make it onto a ship at all. He hopes he does make it back, though- this place has felt like a home in a way that his castle has not for years.

Ryan glances to the crowd and searches through it, on the lookout for a single shade of green he might recognize. There has to be something, somewhere. Not the turnip cart full of root vegetables, not the bolts of fabric hanging off the merchant’s cart, not the flags flying on the pole at the head of the caravan, starting to head out of the front gates with a hundred people and their possessions streaming behind. The sound of horses starts up softly, as though it’s far away; Ryan kicks into Edgar’s side softly to get him moving. Maybe Gavin is waiting beyond the fence... 

But his search is stalled when his horse shakes its head and avoids running into the carts in front of him. They haven’t yet moved.

In fact, despite the sound of galloping hooves, the other horses in the caravan haven’t started moving at all.

Ryan looks to the gate where the caterpillar's crawl of the caravan has slowed down to a stop once more- where the sound of horses is getting louder. At the gate people are starting to back off or head to the side, making way for something Ryan can’t see past the cloth merchants and the farmers. Amongst the tune of children laughing while they run away from parent’s hands and people shouting to make room there is another song he places far too easily, and far too late.

Anxiety rising, Ryan notes the music of clinking armor and jingling chain. He hears horses breathing heavy from a hard ride, he hears the sound of a Northern accent. Before he can turn his horse away the turnip cart has already moved off to the side to make way for the banners and flags being held by the horsemen at the front of a pack of fifty men. Ryan is frozen at the sight of so many swords and so much rich fabric; he’s as enchanted as the children who whisper about the horses although the feeling in his chest is much more sinister.

It’s Lindsay that gets him to move, grabbing Edgar’s reigns from his hands and trailing the horse along with her own to follow Michael with his. Both warriors look distrustfully at the large arrangement of noblemen and guards, Ryan sees Michael’s hand rest on his sword hip. The man’s eyes meet Ryan’s for a moment and must see nerves, for he puts a hand on Edgar’s flank and then his saddle, pulling gently to move the horse farther behind Lindsay’s. Ryan’s not sure what good it will do- he’s a head taller than her on his horse, in line of sight for the guards approaching the front of the inn. 

The two guards at the front of the party approach the inn and it’s keepers, and Ryan finds he’s very glad for Gavin’s cloak, which is yet again hiding him from the sight of those who may very well be searching for a Mad King.

 

* * *

 

When Gavin woke that morning, his bed was warm and pleasant. Just the way he likes it.

The gray early-morning light has only just enough strength for Gavin to make out the shape of his companion under the blanket, lax and breathing slowly to move the quilt up and down. Ryan’s face is soft around his cheek bones except for where he’s started to grow out scruff from a few days without a shave. The darker gold of the hair at his chin matches the locks framing his forehead, though the dawn light leaches out the metallic sheen that Gavin saw yesterday in the sun while Ryan sparred with Griffon. He knows it’s there, the gold is hidden in dark yellow tresses and rubbed up against a plain cotton pillow.

Gavin regards Ryan with heavy-lidded eyes, wanting to get his fill. Ryan leaves today; already Gavin can hear the crow of a rooster someone must have brought with them to travel in the Caravan. As soon as the sun has risen in earnest the men who run the safe passage through the forest road will arrive and start collecting fees from those who plan to travel. When the sun has passed over the roof of the inn the Caravan will depart, leaving in a trail of common direction and leaving behind a mess of the yard that Gavin and Griffon and Geoff will try to tame. They’ll plant grass seed wherever carts left a mark of brown or where the ground has been whittled to Gray dirt. They’ll clean the stable and make sure nothing was left behind by the people who slept there, and that nothing was stolen. They’ll clean up the first floor, organize the tables, and take inventory. It will be just as it always is, after a Caravan leaves; busy days, but simple work. Gavin has always been glad when the Caravan leaves because it means that his days will have time, again, for playful tricks and archery practice.

Except... This time Gavin will know that Ryan is going. He will think about where he is on the road and if Michael and Lindsay are talking with him and keeping him company. Gavin will wonder if Ryan is safe- there are tolls on the Caravan road, guards posted to keep watch for bandits at each of them. What will happen if a guard sees him and knows of the bounty on his head? Are there people actively searching for Ryan, hoping to bring him back to whatever noble he’s affronted? 

The wound in Ryan’s side is not a warning cut- it was meant to kill. Gavin saw the bandages and blood the night Ryan arrived, he brought him the needle and thread. Last night he ran his fingers over it as gently as he could to remind himself that it was there and to be cautious of it, even in the midst of what they were doing. Whoever did that to Ryan wants him gone for good and all Gavin wants at the moment is to see him stay. The inn would not be safe forever, not with a bounty on his head- but couldn’t he stay a while longer? The Caravan used to come weekly but now it comes every two weeks- would it be so bad to remain here another two weeks?

If Ryan is running, he is probably never coming back.

Gavin’s long fingers lift out of the blanket at last to touch Ryan’s hair, brushing it over his ear. As much as he’d like to keep Ryan indefinitely he will probably want to get a move on and start readying his horse and gathering himself for his journey. He can wash in Gavin’s basin, if he’d like- though it isn’t very private. He can eat breakfast with Gavin up here, he can stay warm with Gavin away from prying eyes. 

Or, Ryan could roll over slowly and blink himself into wakefulness and then reach over to Gavin and brush fingertips over his bare shoulder, and make Gavin rethink waking him up at all. How dare he be so charming? How dare he leave for the safety of the port and a boat to Gods know where?

Gavin smiles despite the thoughts in his head, because at the very least Ryan wakes up so very  pretty. Damn him for being distracting.

“Good morning,” Ryan greets, the first to speak and break the silence. Gavin likes the sound and moves forwards a little more, temptingly close he hopes. Ryan only continues smiling, and Gavin avoids moving forward with a kiss despite hoping for one.

“‘Morning,” Gavin responds, tongue heavy. “Decided to stay in my bed all night?”

For all his charming character, Ryan still seems thrown by the insinuation that maybe he wasn’t supposed to stay in the room the whole night. Gavin gives him a smile and moves just a little closer, touching his knee against Ryan’s thigh for contact and to prove that isn’t the case. 

“Lucky me,” Gavin says, rolling his neck a little and settling down on his pillow again. “I had the best night of anyone in the inn, then.”

Ryan seems pleased by that, though less so by Gavin’s sigh that follows.

“It’s a shame it was only the one night- since you’re leaving today.”

Gavin watches Ryan’s face shift- where he once looked calm there is now a purpose behind his eyes and the set of his mouth is determined, perhaps wistful but only in part. Already the other man’s legs shift as though he’ll get out of the bed immediately and head downstairs. Gavin regrets his statement, he wishes he could take it back. Instead, he finds a suitable way to make Ryan pause.

The innkeeper’s son rises up a little on the bed and balances on his elbows, quilt falling off his chest and bundling in his lap. He sets his eyes on Ryan, asking for an answer with his question’s direct nature.

“Where will you go?” Gavin asks, knowing Ryan’s path only so far as the Caravan. When he arrives at port, then what? A ship around the edge of the continent and up to the Free Lands? Passage over the Crystal Sea and into another Kingdom? Off to the plains, to the north of the port but impassable from the East because of the mountains, even more cut off from the North proper by its design?

Ryan sighs and stares at the ceiling instead of focusing on Gavin’s eyes, perhaps counting the spirals in each of the wooden boards. Gavin almost doesn’t expect him to answer, so he’s surprised when the man starts to speak.

“I’ll take the Caravan to the Port and then find passage on a ship.” Ryan explains, voice soft- it’s as though he expects someone to be listening at the door to relay his plans to whoever’s after him. “From there it’s on toward the Burning Kingdom, where I can find the help I need.”

Gavin knows the Burning Kingdom only by name- nickname, really. In the same way King James’ kingdom is known by the title The Kingdom of Five, for it’s regions abroad. The south- full of forests close to the sea, is where the inn sits; and then there’s the Plains, the Mountains, the Marsh, and Finally the North, where the castle sits among ice and stone. From what Gavin has heard The Burning Kingdom was birthed from ash and water boils in the ground. He can imagine it, but he wonders if the image in his head is true.

“Will you stay there?” Gavin asks, wondering if he might see Ryan again. 

“I endeavor not to,” Ryan answers. “There is far more for me here than there. But I may not have the chance to return, either.”

A silence descends between them, uneasy. 

When Ryan finally shifts the move out of the bed Gavin allows him to, turning his body to the side so that his own feet touch the floor. Ryan climbs out of the bed next to him, dipping to collect his clothes as he goes. His breeches, his shirt- he slides them on and hides away the cream of his skin and Gavin is left bereft. Ryan is leaving, Ryan is really leaving.

People have left before. Gavin has let people leave before, encouraged them to leave before... Why must this time in particular be so difficult?

Gavin turns himself back onto his bed, hiding his feet away in the quilt again. He watches Ryan but curls in on himself to try and get some distance, to try and look at things from the angle he’s had before. The man with the earrings, the woman with the dragon’s eggs. Each of them came for the caravan and Gavin fell for them in turn- he had endless questions about the dragons, endless compliments about the jewelry. He truly enjoyed every moment with them, but the very morning they had to leave he had decided to let them go. 

He hasn’t let himself think of letting Ryan go- not until now. Now, when it is too late to figure out how to keep him here, how to make the impossible happen. Gavin has dreamed the impossible before and it lead him here, to the Kingdom of Five, to the safety of the inn where he has a family and friends and his archery and nights where he curls up next to the most interesting people he can find... but he cannot imagine how hard he would have to dream to stop Ryan from going, because Ryan is already looking ready to leave.

So Gavin decides to let him go. There. Done.

Ryan fixes his hair in Gavin’s little hand mirror on the dresser, next to his water basin, and it falls into place with a few brushes of his fingers. Gavin watches and forces himself to stay in the bed, to create distance. The farther he is when Ryan leaves the less it will hurt when he is finally gone. Not that it will hurt- he’s already decided. He just has to decide it won’t hurt and then it won’t, just like getting sick. Just don’t.

But Ryan turns to smile at Gavin and Gavin feels his heart ache, despite his decision.

“I should get going.” Ryan says, and Gavin notices that his smile is sad. It hangs at the edges, like Ryan cannot quite put his all into it. “I have things to collect from my room, and I must pay your father, and then ready my horse.”

Gavin nods, agreeing that there is much to do. Still Ryan lingers- Gavin cannot tell who is waiting for whom or who is more hopeful that someone will stop moving. He can’t take it, not when Ryan finally gives a nod like he’s decided something, stepping towards the door.

Gavin tosses his feet out of his bed and stands up so quickly his quilt falls to the ground. Ryan turns at the sound, surprised to see Gavin standing, then bending; Gavin gathers and tugs on his clothes quickly, already feeling his heartbeat pick up at the question he’s thinking of asking.

“Gavin?”   
  
“The passage in the caravan is three coppers, isn’t it?” Gavin asks, falling back onto his bed and grabbing a boot, trying to shove it onto his foot so quickly he doesn’t notice that it’s the wrong boot. Ryan watches with confusion.   
  
“Yes? But I have money to pay it.” He says, and Gavin could laugh. He tugs his boot onto the correct foot and then matches with the other and stands himself up to move to his dresser with Ryan still watching.

Gavin opens up the middle drawer and pushes his hands into linens and shirts to grab at and pull out a small, leather pouch. He unties it and upends it onto his dresser and lets copper coins, a few silver, and a set of gold earrings fall onto the dresser top and his mirror. He swipes three copper and then, on a second thought, takes the two silver as well before he pushes the rest back into the leather and then ties the pouch to the belt he put on so hurriedly that it’s still crooked.

“Gavin-” Ryan says, again, watching Gavin’s feverish movements. “What are you doing?”   
  
Finally, Gavin pauses. 

He gives a nearly guilty look at the floor and toes the wood with the tip of his boot, wondering if he has assumed too much. Is it too grand of a gesture, is he being stupid? He’s already started, though- he won’t stop now. Not unless Ryan tells him to.

“I thought, perhaps...” Gavin says, quietly. “I might go with you all the way to port.” He sees Ryan take in a breath, though he can’t hear it, so he takes the pause to keep speaking. “Lindsay and Michael will be with you, and I’ve never been able to travel with them before- and the bigger a group you’re in the less likely you’ll be noticed. I have the copper for the journey, it wouldn’t be a trouble.”

Ryan flounders with his mouth open for a minute, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Aren’t you needed here?” He asks. Gavin nods, and holds up the hand with two silver coins. 

“I’ll give this to Geoff, and he can hire someone in to help for the time until I get back.” Gavin says, already planning. Three days to the port, a day or two there to help Ryan onto a ship- and then, then maybe he will have distanced himself enough to say goodbye (A lie, even in the back of his head he knows it’s a lie to say he only wants to follow to port) and then he will take the Caravan back to the inn as it departs the port a few days after that. It’s only another three copper, and he’ll be back within two weeks. Simple.

Ryan looks at him like he’s mad which, alright, maybe it is a mad plan. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed...

But then Ryan smiles, and Gavin feels his heart ready to burst.

“It would do well to have another hand on a road so trach-treacherous.” Ryan says, flubbing over the final word in the speech he so cleverly gave. Gavin giggles at him but it’s more happy than making fun.

Gavin cups the coins in his hands and stares at Ryan for a moment, then pulls the folded cloak he threw over him last night behind the bar off of the chest and shakes it out. He offers it to Ryan, smiling. When Ryan takes it from him gently, Gavin’s smile turns into a grin.

“I have another.” He says. It’s patched in plenty of places but it’ll do, and it’s far too small for Ryan. This one is better for Ryan. “But you should take that, and go get your things ready and your horse and I’ll meet you in the yard when I’ve taken care of my things.” He needs to talk to his parents and get Grisham and maybe find Michael and Lindsay and speak to them as well. He needs to tell Ray to take care of his cats. 

Ryan shakes his head. “I have a cloak, Gavin.” It’s waiting in his room for him, long and black and well made. 

“I thought you wanted to blend in.” Gavin says, smiling at the look it draws from Ryan’s face. “You’d be better off just packing it away. Wear mine.” It sounds like less of a request every time. “Now go on, we’ve got a Caravan to catch. If we miss this one I’ll make you wait two weeks for the next.”

Gavin watches Ryan smile and turn for the door, and keeps watching long after it has closed. His heart beats wild in his chest.

Let Ryan go? No. He’d have to be a madman to suffer the thought.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

Ryan watches from under the hem at the hood of Gavin’s cloak as horses move past on Lindsay’s side. He keeps his head down, frightened when he sees movement on his open side- but it’s Gavin moving close on his horse. Ryan takes in the patched cloak of many greens, light and dark and some that glitter, and is distracted momentarily by the thought that that is not an appropriate cloak and he’ll be giving Gavin back his wool one as soon as he has the chance. Gavin will freeze in that thing.

Jingling chain brings Ryan back to the present and he can’t risk looking to the closest soldier so he looks at Lindsay instead, trying to fathom how much trouble he’s in from how she looks. Gavin is staring at the newcomers too, lips moving as he counts out the number of soldiers he sees. Eventually, though it seems he hasn’t reached the end, he stops counting. That does nothing to calm Ryan’s nerves; ‘too many to count’ is never a good thing.

He catches Gavin’s eyes and tries to let the green calm him. The Ramseys protected him last night, the warriors protected him last night; they will protect him again. No matter what the local Lord thinks he can accomplish with a show of force like this he won’t be able to manage to weed out Ryan in all the crowd. He has no idea what Ryan looks like; it would take someone close to him to pick him out from just the description ‘blonde haired and blue eyed’ and he hopes that all the men falsely hounded under his name are being released as soon as it’s clear they’re not who’s being looked for. 

“Banners.” Michael says, nodding his head forward. Ducked low as he is, Ryan didn’t see them easily- but it’s not the simple flower banner of the local Lord that’s revealed slowly from behind people’s heads.

Ryan watches two banners rise- a small white Dog on a black background, leg raised high; and the second, a rising sun on a field of split red and blue with one small circle above it. He recognizes them and his breathing hitches. 

Gavin must hear the sound, shifting his horse immediately to try and hem Ryan in. He takes the place of Lindsay, who moves to cover Ryan from the side. Ryan can’t help but stare at the two large, well-bred horses making their way towards the front of the party. He’s not the only one- there are stares and whispers plenty at the sight of the two well-dressed men making their way towards the Ramsey inn with their heads high, eyes passing over the crowd.

“Oh no...” Ryan hears himself say, nerves betraying him. He sees Lindsay look to him. He sees Gavin turn back to look at him. He sees the men on their horses turn-

Ryan ducks his head again, feels a shiver go up his spine. He saw brown eyes for just a moment, familiar and wide. Gods be good, it wasn’t enough. Gods be good he doesn’t look enough like himself in green, which he never wears. Thank Gods for Gavin and his cloak...

“Over there.”

No.

Ryan tries to remain calm as the soldiers near their part of the caravan shift, moving in closer. His hands tighten on Edgar’s reigns and he thinks about snapping them, throwing himself through the caravan and making a run for it but there is too much risk he would hit someone who was innocent. The Caravan is full of people on foot and he won’t risk their lives just to cover his own. Even so Edgar seems to pull back a little as he tightens his thighs on the saddle, tail whipping back and forth.

He sees Gavin move, truly blocking him from sight and blocking any view he had of soldiers moving towards them or the two men on horseback joining to look together in their direction. Ryan stares at Gavin’s bow and quiver, slung over his back, and knows he won’t be quick enough to loose an arrow in these close quarters with so many soldiers staring him down. He wouldn’t expect him to either, neither would he expect the Joneses to raise their swords in his defense. That would be suicide.

Still, he can hear fingers against leather beside him, he can see Gavin shifting his shoulder like he’s going to shake off his bow.

“Move aside.”

Ryan hears the order and hears the people in front of Gavin part aside for the man who spoke, but Gavin doesn’t move. Ryan wants to tell him to, before he gets hurt, but his lungs are stuck in his throat. He can’t breathe, let alone speak.

“My Lords.” He hears Gavin greet, as though they’re just two men who have wandered into the inn. “Can I assist you with something?”   
  
“You can move aside.” The voice says again. Ryan closes his eyes and lowers his head. This is it, then. He sets a hand on his sword. 

“Are you trying to get to the fence?” Gavin asks. Ryan wonders how he can lie so steadily. “I can move all my men for you, then. Go ahead Linds, Michael, Rodrick. Out of the way--”   
  
“Not the fence.” The voice is getting annoyed very quickly. “We’re looking for the man right behind you.”

Ryan lets go of his sword, swallows his lungs, and speaks.

“Move aside, Gavin.” Ryan says- the thought of Gavin getting hurt from standing in the way too long getting to him. Something in him says that if he fights, Gavin will too- and if Gavin fights so will Michael and Lindsay, so will Griffon... Ryan can’t be responsible for that. 

Gavin turns his head and Ryan can see the distress in his eyes, but he gives him a false smile and turns Edgar with his reigns, moving out from behind Gavin’s body to present himself to the two imposing men sitting on their high horses in front of him. With their banners waving behind them, Sorola and Risinger look ever part the members of his council. Close friends, he thought- men who could be trusted. But here they are, with an army.

Ryan lifts a hand to the hood of Gavin’s cloak and pulls, letting it fall to his shoulders. The sun hits blonde hair and shines gold, and without shadow Ryan’s eyes are a traitorously bright blue. He sees Lord Risinger grin.

“Your Grace!”

Something ripples through the crowd around the soldiers but Ryan focuses on the voice he recognizes instead, the excited uplifted tone out of place with all the doom and gloom in his head. He almost can’t recognize it- but it’s a voice he hears every day, of course he must. 

“Kerrian?” He asks, turning his head away from the lords in front of him to search- there’s a small pony working it’s way through the train behind the Lords with a youthful, blonde man sitting astride it. Ryan would know him anywhere.

“Your Grace!” Kerry shouts, overjoyed. “Thank the Gods!”

“Your Grace?” Michael repeats, dumbfounded. 

Around them, things change very quickly.

The soldiers on foot around the Lords’ horses all take the knee as soon as Kerry has made his way safely through, heads bowed towards Ryan on his horse. On their horses, Gus and Jon lower their heads down with a smile but pick them up almost as quickly- and Ryan, thrown by the change in demeanor, stares at them all with wonder in his eyes.

Ryan sees Gavin staring at him and he can’t quite fathom how to explain himself, at the moment, so he settles for speaking to the noblemen in front of him. 

“I was under the impression that all my noble houses had forsaken me.” Ryan says, staring from Jon to Gus and then looking to Kerry as though hoping for an explanation. “My entire council set to defame me.” And have him killed, but that is another matter.

It’s Jon who speaks up, pulling his horses’ reins to calm her stomping at the ground. 

“House Risinger had no part in the coup.” He says, and his voice sounds so honest Ryan cannot fathom disbelieving him. “We stand firm- there is only one true king.”

“Even if he’s running around wild in the countryside.” Gus adds, the older man looking Ryan up and down as though he disapproves of the choice. “Should we start calling you King James of the Wilds instead of King of the Five?”

Ryan opens his mouth as though he’s going to argue, but he just can’t manage it with the relief pushing in at his chest. He can feels eyes on him, people staring- and one by one they’re looking from the soldiers to the blonde man on a horse and realizing what all this talk means. It starts with the people closest to them, men and women dropping to their knees and bowing their heads or just staring up in interest from the ground because wow- wow. 

You don’t just see a King every day, that’s for sure.

“As soon as I sent you off, your Grace, I found every loyal house I could.” Kerry says, sounding proud of himself. “The coup at the castle worked but the Councilmen don’t realize what we’ve done. They think you ran off without any help, so they put a bounty on you.”   
  
“I’m aware.” Ryan says, remembering the lord from the night before.

“They don’t want to move for the throne until they have you.” Kerry says, talking excitedly. “So they’re waiting, and in the meantime they’re just trying to get people on their side- but we’ve convinced most everyone not to.”   
  
“We?” Ryan asks, too interested in hearing any news of his kingdom to think of the consequences of simply continuing this conversation without explaining himself. “Who-”   
  
“Miles and I.” Kerry says, “and Gray and Lady Burton. Miles has told the entire guard to play along, so when we move back in with the forces of House Sorola and Risinger, and with the soldiers Lady Burton has called forth from The burning Kingdom-” 

“She was able to send a Raven?” Ryan asks, feeling hope spark in his chest already.

“Yes. They’ll be in port in two day’s time.” Kerry interrupts his own story to explain, then he continues. “With all of that, Miles intends to have the guard turn on the Council the moment they ask for them to fight against you. They’ll be overtaken, without a doubt.”

“And without too much bloodshed.” Ryan sighs, relieved. He feels his shoulders drop. He has been angry enough to think of horrible ways to kill his council man by man recently but that never meant he wanted his loyal men to die for him to have the chance. If he can avoid a loss of life, he will. And it seems he has been given that chance. “Thank the Gods.”

Ryan’s relief is so profound he takes a moment to simply sit on his horse and breathe. Stitching pulls at his side but he is still breathing easier than he has in days. Ahead of him there is a chance to reclaim his throne, to punish the council, and to make sure there will never be another coup in his lifetime. This will have settled it once and for all that he is a King not to be crossed, and he needn’t even put hundreds or thousands of men to the death to do it. The Gods have granted him a great mercy.

“Your Grace?” Gavin says, whisper quiet.

Ryan feels his breathing catch in his throat.

Turning on his horse, Ryan can see the Caravan of people kneeling to him, some men climbed from their carts and horses and others simply with their heads bowed from where they sit. To the very right of him, however, he still sees three people upright on their horses looking more than a little shocked. Gavin, most of all, stands out next to the warriors with his patched green cloak and his bow across his shoulders. When he is surprised his eyes go wide, Ryan realizes- it makes him look even younger than he truly is.

“Gavin...” Ryan says, not quite sure how to address the situation that has them all shocked. His mouth hands open a moment and he simply has no words. He would stumble through them, even if he could find any.

As it is, he supposes there really isn’t the time to discuss it. Not in front of so many people.

“Rise up, all of you!” Ryan says, raising his voice to be heard by the soldiers and the Caravan alike. He can see Sir Miles, Captain of the Guard, standing up where he was kneeled just next to Gus’ horse. Other Guards he recognizes, Knights among them, are standing here and there- and the Caravan is coming to life around him again. People are talking amongst themselves in excitement, like they’ve just witnessed a tableau starring their very own King. This will go down in history, no doubt, and the most interesting start to a Caravan there has ever been.

“We should get moving.” Miles says, to Kerry- and Ryan sees Gus nod in return to the idea, turning to speak to Jon.

Kerry smiles. “We have a camp set up, to the North a day. We can set ourselves there with the rest of the forces and wait for the men from the Burning Kingdom to arrive, start planning the assault on the castle.” 

Ryan nods. He falls into the talk of battle as simply as if it were another item on the agenda in a meeting with Kerry on a normal day. He moves Edgar forward, pulling up next to Kerry so they can properly speak- But he remembers Gavin and turns, in time to see the innkeepers approaching them from the building’s front.

Griffon bows with Geoff doing the same beside her, and Ryan cannot help but smile. “Rise up, Griffon, Geoff.”

The innkeepers rise, but as Griffon stands tall and sure with a hand behind her back, parade rest on instinct, Geoff stands just behind her and with new eyes for the man he held in careful protection for a few days on his wife’s orders. 

“Your Grace-” Griffon says, and Ryan’s mouth twitches as if to say ‘Ryan, please’ but he knows that time is past, now. “You’ll be heading to reclaim your castle?”   
  
“Yes.” Ryan answers. He is so very thankful for everything Griffon’s family has done to help him reach this point, that the room and food and drink was paid for doesn’t matter; their loyalty means far more. “I cannot thank you enough for what you did for me, Griffon. You owed me no more loyalty, but you harbored me in your home, your husband was kind, your son...” He knows Gavin has approached again, still staring. “I will do everything I can to repay your family for their loyalty. For your help.”

Griffon smiles. “Your Grace, if you are to retake the castle you will need every man you can who knows it’s walls.”

Ryan knows this to be true, it’s why he is glad to have the guard on his side- but they will need to get Miles inside, to give the orders at the right time. That will be difficult, and a siege will cost them dearly. But if Griffon is suggesting-

“I served your father for six years,” She says with no hesitation. “I captained your Prince Guard. I know the castle, and I am willing to offer you my sword again, until you sit on your throne unchallenged.”

There’s a low breathless ‘woah’ from Gus’ side and Ryan recognizes it as Miles; perhaps he recognizes the woman in the same way Ryan did- he would have just been starting as a guard when Griffon offered her last year of service to the King. 

Ryan glances back at his Captain and his Lords, the last loyal men of his council, to get their opinion. He doesn’t speak out loud, he doesn’t need to. When he turns his head back around, he knows what his answer will be.

“I need every loyal sword offered to me, Griffon.” Ryan says, “But you have a business here, and a family to care for.”

“Do you need loyal bows, too?”

Ryan turns his head at the sound of Gavin’s voice, seeing how nervous the man looks up on his horse. He keeps his eyes down now, like he wants to make sure he’s not being insulting. Ryan bites his tongue to try and keep his own words from leaning too far into comfortable territory.

“Every loyal man and woman I can find.” Ryan answers. He looks from Griffon, to Gavin, and back. “If your family is offering their service, Griffon, then I accept it. I would be a fool not to.”

“Or mad.” Ryan hears Jon mutter. He turns his eyes to him unhappily but doesn’t say a word.

Griffon bows, again, and though she seems to be looking at her son with a bit of a misty-eyed expression she takes a step away. “Our swords are yours. My son and I will join your battalion.” 

Ryan imagines the Ramseys with the common soldiers and frowns.

“I want the both of you with Sir Luna, my Captain of the Guard.” Ryan says, decidedly. “I’ve seen the both of you fight, you’ll be more use than as mere foot soldiers.” and safer, this way. And closer. Possible to speak with. “Miles, keep the Ramseys close. Let them Gather what they need and then have them catch up to the rest of us.”

Griffon bows again, and Ryan knows there is traveling to be done. He can’t linger here, as much as he wants to- and the Caravan needs to continue on as well. Speaking with Gavin, explaining himself, will have to come later.

“Form up!” Miles calls to the soldiers. Ryan watches men close in ranks and it feels real, suddenly. The King shifts in the saddle and moves Edgar again, leading him back towards the Caravan. He pulls the necklace of teeth off of his neck and holds it out to Lindsay in offering.

“Thank you.” Ryan says, unsure what else to say. Lindsay accepts the necklace back and simply bows her head.

Michael, next to her, seems to have other plans.

“Lindsay.” Michael says, motioning for her to come closer. As his wife approaches him, Michael leans in. Ryan can, despite their attempt to hide it, hear most of the conversation. 

“-and Wars mean money.”

“Better than the Port?”

“Who cares about fifteen silver, he owes us right? Covering for him?”

“Kings don’t owe people.”   
  
“He wasn’t a King when we did it, he was Ryan. but now he’s a King, and Kings have Gold.”

Ryan wants to shake his head, but he’d be caught listening in. A few moments later the warriors are back, anyway. Michael taking the lead, this time.

“You know, your Majesty-” The way Michael says it, the title almost sounds optional. “I hear that battles like the one you’re running sometimes hire sellswords.”

Ryan lofts an eyebrow, trying to seem distant to the question. Michael looks like he doubts his idea for just a moment, but days in the inn together have made Ryan fond of the both of them- and if half of their stories are true, he’d be lucky to keep the warriors on his side.

“Aye, sometimes they do.” Ryan says. “A couple gold a head.”

He sees Michael’s eyes grown bright at the thought.

“Well, I was just thinking, that Lindsay and I- We like you. As Ryan and as Your Majesty, King James.” Michael says.

“Uh-huh...” Ryan says, waiting. 

“And while a couple gold isn’t a whole lot-” He really can spin tale. “We could be convinced to offer our services for three a head.”

“Three?” Ryan asks, seeing the Warriors hesitate thinking they’ve upset him at demanding four. Ryan just grins. “Well, I suppose it’ll do. Report to the Captain, with the Ramseys.” He shrugs as he turns, unable to help the teasing. “I would have paid five, for the Great and Terrible Mogar, but if you’re offering three that’s a deal.”

Michael makes an offended sound and Ryan chances a laugh as he rides back to the lords, unhooking Gavin’s cloak from his shoulders when he arrives. Gavin has just dismounted and is speaking with his mother and father closely but Ryan knows he has to get to the front before the soldiers will leave. He hates interrupting, but it’s necessary.

“-And who will protect me and Arrow?” Geoff is asking, gesturing to the inn’s front where the lazy dog is still sleeping despite the chaos. His wife and son don’t seem to be listening very hard.

“You’ll be fine.” Griffon says, kissing Geoff’s cheek. “Now I really have to go get my things. Hire a few new hands for while we’re gone, we can afford it. Gavin and I will be back before you know it.”

“Lies.” Geoff spits back, accepting the kiss to his cheek and then grabbing Griffon, demanding one on the lips instead. Ryan sees Gavin turn away to give them some privacy.

Ryan clears his throat.

Gavin startles and lowers his head immediately at the sight of Ryan; Ryan, for what it’s worth, is struck by the thought that he misses the sight of Gavin’s eyes.

“Your Majesty.” Gavin intones.

“Gavin.” Ryan says; he sighs, and simply hold out the green woolen cloak. “I wanted to give your cloak back. Blending in isn’t as much of a worry now.” 

Gavin nods, almost sadly, as he accepts the cloak. Ryan can’t stand it.

“I will miss it though.” Ryan says, glad to see Gavin perk up. “You look far better in green than I do, anyway.”

He smiles, catching sight of Gavin’s shocked expression, and nods to the Ramseys. “Until later.”

Ryan turns his horse and rides for the front of the party where the soldiers have amassed, joining Jon and Gus and moving just ahead of them. Kerry comes to ride at his side and begins talking immediately of plans and the camp and all they have to get done before their reinforcements arrive. It will be almost a day’s ride North to reach the camp; from there, a half a day’s march with their forces to the castle on the day they attack. 

The King turns to the North with a smile while Jon gives the call for the soldiers to move forward. Ahead of him, he has throne waiting; behind, he has an army following.

And soon he will have his crown.

 

* * *

 

 

“So you knew he was the King from the moment you got home?” Gavin asks. He hears his mother sigh beside him in the tent and he can’t help but grin.

They’ve been in the soldier’s camp for three days now, not counting the night they arrived when there was great fanfare from the assembled soldiers when Ryan rode through them. King James, Gavin reminds himself. When King James rode through their tents the soldiers cheered and kneeled or saluted- a hundred things all at once. It was amazing to watch, just like watching Ryan step out in King’s clothing was amazing, seeing Ryan crowned the next morning when Kerry brought in the crown he’d taken from the castle before he left. Ryan’s crown-

_King James’_ crown.

Gavin rolls over on his bedding to look at Griffon in the dim light that’s left as the sun sets. It filters through the cloth over them, making things softer. Even after a full day swinging her sword around, speaking with Captain Luna, and meeting with other soldiers Griffon still looks powerful. She still looks like his mother, too, though. 

“Yes, I knew.” Griffon answers, just as she has every day since Rya- King James was revealed at the inn. “He asked me to keep his secret.”

“Yeah well I wouldn’t have told anyone.” Gavin says, smiling. His smile grows when Griffon turns to him with a look of disbelief. He tries to play innocent.

“The whole inn would have known before supper.” Griffon says. “You would have told Michael who would shout, or Ray who would have gossiped, or your father, and he would have had a fright--”

“You didn’t tell Geoff, either?” Gavin asks.

Griffon shakes her head. Gavin gives a quiet ‘ _wow_ ’.

“Loyalty, Gavin, is the most important thing you can give someone.” Griffon says, head turning on her pillow. She’s above the blankets, not intending to sleep- merely getting some rest while other soldiers in the Captain’s camp light the fires and get things cooking over them for dinner. It will probably be boiled carrots and lamb bones again; apparently soldier’s camps do not have good food like inns, Gavin has learned. He doesn’t mind; the Freelands were worse. Still, Griffon continues over Gavin’s thoughts of food. “When you offer your loyalty you have to also be willing to offer what it will cost you. Your sword, your money, your life.”

Gavin nods, following. The past few days he has met many men loyal to King James; or, loyal to him through their loyalty to their Lords. All of them seem prepared to fight, or worse. Gavin knows he’s prepared to fight- he’s been trying to prove that for days. Every arrow he looses has hit its mark- he doesn’t want to fail, not where Ryan could see.

Not that they’ve seen much of Ryan. Gavin’s sure he’s busy, being King and all. He has a whole battle to plan with his Lords in the big tent at the center of the camp. They’re not far from it, in the Captain’s section of the camp, but Ryan doesn’t seem to leave the tent much. He rides, twice a day, through the camp- Griffon said it was to prove he was there, among them. He rides on the edge of the city built around the castle as well, where the people cheer for him with his crown and his kilt and clean white shirt. They are all of the opinion, apparently, that the coup was a fool’s move. It’s no wonder, the camp behind them grows by the day. The Burning Kingdom’s soldiers will join them in a few days, as they’re marching from the port even now, and then the real fight will begin.

“Gavin, are you listening to me?”

Gavin shakes his head and looks at his mother, chagrined. Griffon only sighs.

“I said, did you find out what Michael and Lindsay were up to earlier, when I was speaking with Captain Luna.” Griffon repeats, for Gavin’s benefit.

Gavin nods, sitting up on his bedroll. He can’t sit still. 

“Some of the soldiers were asking for stories, in between practice.” Gavin says, “Michael was just telling them some and then one of them shouted at him that he was a liar, only he said more than that, and Lindsay kicked him to the ground. Do you think they’re in trouble?”

Griffon sighs. She has no control over the warriors, Gavin knows, but he thinks people in the Captain’s camp think she should.

“They cause too much trouble, but Captain Luna likes them. I don’t think we have to worry.” She says, smiling. “But, either way, we’d best head out there and make sure they don’t try anything like that again before dinner.”

Gavin stands himself up and then thinks better of it when his head hits cloth, ducking until he’s out of the tent and blinking outside. It’s brighter by a little but the sun’s going down steadily and the fires are making it smokey while brightening a bit. There’s a small cast iron pot boiling on the fire in the center of their camp; yep, looks like lamb bones and carrots.

There’s a whoop to the right of him and Gavin just manages to dodge an excited Michael’s hands, evading capture that probably would have ended in ruffled hair or worse.

“Gavin!” Michael says, excited. “Guess what?!”

“What?” Gavin asks, amused by Michael look. Lindsay is approaching from behind him, shaking her head happily. It can’t be bad.

“No more carrots!” Michael says, laughing. 

Gavin glances at the pot in the center of camp, slightly orange froth at the top. “Looks like carrots to me, boi.”

“Well that is.” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “But I just fucking won an arm wrestling match and the prize was a whole Rabbit- so no Carrots.” He grins.

Gavin laughs and waves Michael off. It does sound better than more carrots. Even though it’s obviously trouble if Michael’s off playing games with other parts of the camp Griffon doesn’t look too disappointed- everyone’s tired of carrots.

They’re by the fire arguing in the dying light of the sun over how best to cook the Rabbit, with Michael refusing to put it in the pot with the lambones and carrots, when there’s a noise to the back. A quick turn of the head reveals Captain Luna returning, today with the Lord Steward in tow. Gavin hasn’t met the man yet but he’s seen him, always at Ry- King James’ side.

And now he’s smiling at everyone around the fire, looking a little run down but not out of life just yet.

“My Lords.” Griffon greets, for the group, lifting herself to stand. There’s no need to, with Miles already waving them all off but Griffon is nothing if not polite. 

Kerry grins. “Ser Griffon, Ser Gavin. Just who I was looking for.” He says, not noticing the look Gavin gives Griffon in confusion. Griffon’s already speaking up.

“I have no title, my Lord- nor does Gavin.” Griffon says, thinking Kerry only polite in return, but Kerry just grins. 

“It’s what the King called you, Ser. It’s what I will until told otherwise- But please, forgive me.” He smiles again. “I’ve need of Ser Gavin.”

“Me?” Gavin asks, while Griffon is still trying to figure out how to work her tongue. Being suddenly referred to by the title of a non-noble knight will do that to someone. 

“Yes.” Kerry replies. “If you’ll come with me, Ser?”

Gavin gets to his feet as quickly as he can, to not keep Kerry waiting. He can feel Michael and Lindsay’s curious eyes on his back but Kerry is already turning to go, so he follows with only a look back to his mother. The look Griffon gives him just screams for him to behave, so Gavin keeps his mouth shut as the walk continues from the Captain’s Camp towards the center of the whole Camp. 

Behaving means not asking the thousand questions running through Gavin’s head- don’t ask about where you’re going or what you did wrong or how much trouble you’re in. He’s hard-pressed not to, though, nerves making him fiddle with the hem of his shirt. It’s only once they’re passed the bulk of the tents, in more open ground, that Gavin think he might know where they’re going, and that’s what makes him truly nervous enough to chance asking.

“My Lord-” He starts, but Kerry laughs.

“Kerry is fine.” Kerry says, turning to smile at him. “Unless there’s a lot of people around, that’s usually the only time anyone throws that title into things.”   
  
“Kerry.” Gavin says, because he’s nervous enough not to argue. “Where are we going?”   
  
Kerry makes a little ‘o’ with his mouth as he realizes he hasn’t said. “Sorry, to the King’s tent. His Majesty asked for you.” Gavin watches Kerry grin at whatever face he makes in response before he keeps going. “It didn’t sound like trouble, I wouldn’t worry.”

Gavin can’t fathom what to say in response to that- he can’t imagine there would be anything else he’d be getting called before the King about. Although...

Ah, so that’s it.

Gavin bites his lip and nods, continuing to follow Kerry towards the King’s tent with a heavy heart. He remembers telling himself that in three days time, when he reached the port with Ryan and sent him off on a ship, he’d have gained enough distance to not feel pained when he let him go. Now he knows Ryan is King James, and he’s all the way off in a separate camp and Gavin has pledged his loyalty and his bow and it has been three days but still- still...

It will hurt to hear Ryan ask Gavin to keep what happened between them a secret.

That’s the only thing Gavin can think of as they move past a few well-dressed Lords; Kerry greets them by name and Gavin keeps his head bowed. Rya- King James is calling him into his tent to ask for discretion. Gavin doesn’t know what Kings aren’t allowed to do, but everyone has a reputation. The King’s reputation probably can’t handle an innkeeper’s son and a shared cloak and a kiss on the Smithy’s Day behind the inn. And that’s fine, Gavin reasons, it’s understandable. But it still hurts.

“Just in here, Ser.” Kerry says, and Gavin lifts his head. Kerry is holding up the flap that is the entrance to the tent. “You can ask for me when you’re done if you’d like someone to walk back with.”

“Thank you, Kerry.” Gavin says, and Kerry’s smile is so sincere Gavin can’t help but smile in return before he sighs and steps under the heavy cloth into King James’ tent.

The red of the tent’s outside walls, the black striped, all the reverse of it is visible inside. Gavin looks at the banner of a Bull’s head, red and black, on a counterchanged banner on one wall of the tent and feels his heartbeat quicken. Another banner sits beside it, a fox counterchanged with an iron gauntlet- one banner for the King's household, another for the Kingship. This is a far cry from a little iron horseshoe above a wooden door.

“Gavin.” 

Gavin catches himself staring and finally turns his head to see the damn bloody King he’s been ignoring for a minute and immediately drops to a knee, panicked at the slight. He hears footsteps and thinks he’s done it, now-

“You don’t have to do that, no one’s around.” Ryan says. Gavin looks up and there’s a hand being offered so he accepts it, letting Ryan pull him up and smile at him. “Thank you, though-” Ryan sounds awkward. Gavin can’t put the title King James to him here, alone, with his crown a little lopsided on his head and Ryan sounding like he wants to apologize to Gavin for Gavin kneeling.

“Kerry said-” Gavin starts, and then corrects himself. “The Lord Steward said that Your Majesty-”   
  
Ryan laughs and Gavin slams his mouth shut, embarrassed. There, he’s gone and blown it again.

“Kerry.” Ryan says, and almost in the same way Kerry said it before. “And Ryan is fine, as long and there’s no one else around.”

Gavin feels his mouth open, surprised, and suddenly it’s Ryan who looks embarrassed.

“If you’re fine with that, that is. I don’t want you to call me something just because I said to-” Ryan says, and Gavin can’t help but interrupt him.

“You’re the King.” Gavin says, as though Ryan needs that explained to him. “I have to do things just because you say them-”

“Well in a war, or court, sure-” Ryan says right back. “But we’re in a tent and no one else is around. I wouldn’t want you thinking that.”

There’s something ulterior there, Gavin’s sure- but he can’t imagine what it would be. Ryan seems sincere enough about it anyway so he follows along, nodding. “Well alright.”

Ryan sighs. “Thank you, Gavin.”

Gavin nods, holding both his hands in front of himself. He bites his lip while he waits for Ryan to start the conversation he’s sure they’re about to have. Discretion, please keep it a secret, don’t tell--

“Gavin.” Ryan says, “I just wanted to apologize.”

“What?” Gavin asks, startled.

“I wanted to apologize.” Ryan repeats. “For lying. By omission.” The King raises a hand to rub at his head, knocking his crown a little more askew. “I never told you who I was.”

Feeling that things are getting a little surreal, Gavin releases his hands to let them swing loose at his sides. “You were hiding.” He says, like that explains everything. “Griffon only knew because she knew you before.”   
  
“Yes.” Ryan admits, “But that doesn’t make it right. You asked me who I was, and you let me very close to you-” Oh, there it is. “And I should have been truthful, before I ever let anything like that happen. You deserve better than that.”

Gavin shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter to me, Ryan.”

“It matters to me.” Ryan says, quiet. He sighs again before he looks up and smiles. “But you know who I am now.”

“Yeah, the King.” Gavin says, still not quite believing it himself. Who would have guessed that the man he brought a bottle of liquor and a set of thread and needle to would be the King? Who would have guessed that the man he kissed behind the inn, the man he danced with, the man he shared his bed with-- “How’s your side?”

“Healing up.” Ryan says, and Gavin’s glad the tent is red because it perhaps hides the pink tinge to his cheeks. “One of Lord Sorola’s medics took a look at it.”

“Good.” Gavin says. “Good...”

“So it can hold up very well now. If you’d like to know, that is.” Ryan says.

Gavin’s head is suddenly filled with fuzz. He looks to the King and yes, the tent must fade things to red because Ryan seems to be very pink as well after what he said.

“Ryan?” Gavin asks.

Ryan seems hesitant. “Forgive me, that was crude.”

Gavin can only take that as confirmation that what was said was meant to be so crude. “I didn’t think you’d want...”

Ryan smiles, lifting and dropping his shoulders like he just can’t be helped by what he’s thinking. “Forgive me.” He says again. “As I said before, I don’t want you to do anything simply because I said something. I don’t like to abuse power- it’s not right.” He seems to sigh. “And I’ll understand if you want to return to camp, and just remain there. I’m sure they’re serving dinner.”

Gavin’s mouth is dry so he licks his lips, looking back to the tent’s entrance. He looks back to Ryan with a shrug to match the King’s. “Carrots and lamb bones.” He says. “I wouldn’t be missing much, though Michael won a Rabbit.”

“Sounds like he arm wrestled Lord Dooley.” Ryan says, and Gavin can’t help but laugh at the idea.

“Must have.” He says, staring at Ryan. “But as I said- I wouldn’t be missing much.”

Ryan still seems cautious as he approaches Gavin, not raising a hand until he’s very close. Gavin’s the first to make contact, setting a hand on Ryan’s sleeve. The white fabric is far tighten woven than anything Gavin could afford, pure and clean. Ryan is warm, underneath it.

“Why a Bull?” Gavin asks, as he runs his hand down Ryan’s arm. He feels the King shiver and he smiles, a little, at the power he feels from knowing it’s not just Ryan shivering- it’s the King.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“Why a Bull?” Gavin repeats. “On the banner. What’s the point of that?”

“Well it’s the symbol of the Kingship.” Ryan says. “Strong, Sturdy, Built to Serve.”

Gavin hums, accepting the answer, and takes a step forward. Ryan takes a step back in return, moving closer to the bed to one side of the tent. Kings and their finery, a real bed in a camp where everyone’s sleeps on the ground.

“Do I get to ask a question?” Ryan asks, near whispering. 

Gavin grins in response. “You just did.” He says, continuing right on. “But yes- ask your question.”

Ryan is quiet a moment, but he Gavin feels the King’s legs hit the bed so he must know there’s not much time left to ask.

“Will you stay the night?” Ryan asks.

Gavin hums, as though he’s thinking it over.

“Would that make you the lucky one?” He asks, returning question for question. He feels Ryan’s hand grab the back of his neck and he lets Ryan pull him forward, leaning back for them both to hit the mattress. Ryan’s hands don’t leave Gavin, even while he whispers his answer into Gavin’s neck where he lays his first kiss.

““Yeah. I think that makes me pretty lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a final fifth chapter- it will be more of an epilogue than the battle for the coup. I'll try and throw some battle stories in there for you : )


End file.
